The Quest
by Enigmatic Ellie
Summary: Re-election fever is in the air, but the road to the White House just got a little more complicated
1. Air Force One

Body Title_ **The Quest** , Chapter One_   
Authors:_ Ellie and Westwinger247_   
Posted_: _March 17, 2001   


_Air Force One_   
_May 27, 2001_   
_Passenger, Sam Seaborn (White House Deputy Communications Director):_

I can hardly explain it, but I know exactly what I'm looking at. 

I feel like a voyeur just sitting here watching them so I'm pretending to look at my laptop computer. Of course, the screen is blank. I mean, it's turned on and that impatient cursor is flashing at me again and again--it kind of reminds me of Josh but without the sound effects. See, I haven't written a word since I turned the computer on. I can't. I'm tired. We were in San Diego for 36 hours, but before that we were in Seattle for a day and Chicago for two days the day before that. In that time, I think I've slept a total of 12 hours (and I'm one of the lucky ones). So I'm weary and I have a hard time writing when I'm like this. I also tend to ramble, which is a good reason not to be writing anything official at all. 

Don't get me wrong. I can still compose beautiful, eloquent and phrases, fuse together insightful quips for stunning sound bites and hammer out compassionate and passionate oration for the president. I can do that when I'm half-asleep, half-frayed, half-drunk even, but it's the actual physical writing I can't do. The typos kill me every time; I've learned to try to avoid writing (or rather typing) when I'm exceedingly tired. So, I let my mind wander instead--my conscious mind that is--the unconscious part is finishing this speech I should be working on. I just can't get the words to go from my head to my fingertips yet. Toby wants this thing done by Thursday morning, and he'll have it. Believe me, he will, I just can't show any physical evidence to back up that assertion right now. But I work in politics and bluster is half the game so I'm not concerned. Not really. Not excessively anyway. 

Actually, what concerns me more is what I'm seeing here--this thing I'm ashamed to be secretly watching. 

Josh and Donna. 

They're sort of diagonal across the aisle from me. They haven't a clue I'm watching, intruding on them like this. But even if they did, nothing would change. See, they're not doing anything, in the sense of "doing something." I mean, if someone, hell if Danny Concannon, walked by right now, he wouldn't pause for a second. He'd breeze right by them without breaking his stride. A quick glance would reveal only two people, sitting side-by-side near the cabin windows, running through data between a computer on her lap and a stack of faxes in his hands. Their voices are respectfully hushed--it's two a.m. (at least that's what my watch says, but it's still on California time, so it's 5 a.m. back in Washington where we're headed). I can pick up some of what they are saying, and it's all strictly business: They're strategizing about a pending House Bill on prescription drug pricing; the subject is hardly risqué. 

But what they're doing is. 

I can't avert my eyes because this is so riveting and worrisome at the same time. What I am seeing is both an intimate and private moment as well as a highly public display of how blisteringly platonic their relationship is. Danny would agree if he saw this. He couldn't argue that this was anything more than the Deputy Chief of Staff and his assistant burning the midnight oil (a phrase I hate incidentally but there are no viable clichés about solar power yet, not to mention it would be mixing of metaphors and that's just bad writing, but I digress). 

See the problem is, if Danny stopped for maybe a little longer, and watched them, really watched them--he'd see what I'm seeing. 

That's why I worry. 

There's something deeper here. 

Josh and Donna reached the point in synergy long ago. They work with machine like precision. They run on the same clock; they have their rhythms in synch; all their cogs turn in perfect time. You can see it when they walk through the office, when they parlay through question and answer sessions, even when they hand folders to each other. One simple knows where they other will be, like a blind pass in the NCAA finals, it's a smooth, well-practiced maneuver that is loaded with trust and faith in each other. 

But it goes deeper than that now. There's this other thing. 

There is some part of them that does not connect at all, and it spells trouble. Because 90 percent of these two is tethered together. That remaining 10 percent intrigues me because it is so volatile and at least one of them knows it and is holding the line, but I don't know how long it can last. 

I've watched them together (and apart) a lot. Not that I stare or am stalking them. I do have a life of my own--and it's a satisfying existence, pleasurable in fact; I'm not fixated on this thing between them, but how could I ignore it? We practically live in the White House with the amount of time we spend there and now we're gearing up to run a national campaign; that just augments it. So I've watch this thing evolve over time. I'm pretty sure I have it figured out now. 

For a long time, most of us were willing to write this off as simple infatuation on Donna's part alone. That made sense. A young woman from Wisconsin looking to start her life over stumbles into a job working for what some people charitably call a charismatic man. I mean, I suppose there is a sort of belligerent charm about Josh. One of the more smitten profile writer's once referred to him as the political equivalent of a cowboy. So, it's easy to see how someone of Donna's background could get swept up in that. I mean, the guy was the senior political director of a campaign that put a man in the White House. That's heady stuff to a woman on the rebound from a bad relationship that took herself esteem and her chance at a college degree. 

Then the shooting was added into the equation. 

Almost losing Josh drew us all a little closer to him. I figured, like the rest of the staff, that Donna had some derivation of the Florence Nightingale syndrome going on afterward. She took care of him and somewhere along the way that line between assistant and something else got blurred. 

Now, a year after that night in Virginia, things have come considerably farther than any of us ever predicted. I've gotta say, I'm impressed with her restraint because it's gotta be hell. 

See, she's the one holding back. Consciously, that is. 

Josh, well, don't misunderstand me, the man is smart, even brilliant sometimes (just ask him, he'll tell you), but when it comes to anything remotely personal he's a dunce. Well, maybe that's harsh. Maybe he's more in-tune than I give him credit for. Mostly I think, it's that this man with such a public life, someone who craves the spotlight and attention, is really shy--at least about personal things. 

He told me weeks ago that he doesn't like it when Donna dates others and even admitted he does everything he can to sabotage her efforts to date. But I'm not sure he knows why he does it. It's not to be malicious, that much is certain. To him, life is all about politics and this job he does. Nothing else registers on his radar. Donna, in Josh's view, is part of this job and therefore an integral part of his life; anything she might do to distract her from the job is therefore bad and should be stopped because it would throw off their routine. 

I'm not saying that's the whole truth, but I'd lay a wager that's how Josh sees things and justifies it to himself. He's totally cerebral. 

Donna on the other hand... She's not deluded. She feels as well as thinks, and that puts her ahead of Josh on this one. Okay, so it took hearing a comment Joey Lucas made, I admit, to make things clear to me. 

Joey was right. It's obvious now. A check of my watch again confirms it. 

Donna doesn't need to be doing this work right now. From the yawns she keeps stifling, she wants and needs sleep badly. But Josh is working, so she is, too. She could leave Josh to his numbers, but I know she won't. Because this is the only time she can spend with him. That's good because it also means it's safe. She's too professional to overstep the assistant/deputy relationship while they're working. Of course, spending this time with him has become something of an addiction. She has to be with him. It's like there's nothing he doesn't do that doesn't do something for her. That's touching, but it's troubling me as well. 

We are starting to look toward the next election and that is the only thing Josh can focus upon. He's one of my best friends and I really would like to see him find happiness that stems from something other than just the political game, but I'm selfish as well. I want to win, and I don't think we can if we don't have Josh--all of him. Now, I know his Achilles Heel. If the wrong person were to figure it out as well, Josh could be neutralized on the campaign front. 

I feel crummy about it, but I'll have to talk to Toby. There has to be a balance of keeping this Lyman/Moss team together while keeping Josh and Donna apart. That's what makes this hard, because I care about both of them. So long as Josh is clueless, he's not gonna get hurt by this thing, but Donna... 

I saw the way she just placed her hand over his to cease the incessant tapping of his pencil on those fax pages. She did it without saying a word then offered him a careworn expression of agitation and admiration that can mean only one thing. Donnatella Moss has tripped clean over her crush and fallen in love with Josh Lyman.   


_Air Force One_   
_May 27, 2001_   
_Passenger, Donna Moss (Assistant to White House Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman):_

_ Tap…tap…tap._

Oh, God, would he just stop that annoying tapping! I'm typing as fast as a person who's had--let's see, seven and a half hours of sleep in four and a half days--can type. For some reason, I don't remember the first campaign to be this exhausting. Then again, Josh didn't trust me as much as he does now. 

I calmly place my hand over his to stop the impatient tapping. I look into those tired eyes. I try to give him my best 'If you don't stop I'll break that pencil' look, but I think it turned into a look a compassion. If I've had 71/2 hours of sleep, then Josh has only had 41/2. He had just begun to get his normal five hours a night sleep back. At least that's what he told me before we left DC He may have just said that so I would quit nagging him. 

But, we can't…_yawn_…stop what we started a couple of hours ago. We're trying to come up with a plan to counter the Republican's upcoming House Bill on prescription drug pricing. Surprisingly we've managed to get a pretty decent draft…_yawn…_written on the plane. Sam and Toby better watch out - I'm becoming quite the writer. 

I glance over at Josh again. He's reading the fax sent by Ed and Larry for the tenth time, hoping to find something that he may have missed the other nine times he's read it. He throws down the papers; leans his head back against the seat and rubs his eyes. I turn back toward the laptop to continue putting together the proposal he just finished dictating to me. 

Josh is so drained. But, I believe he wouldn't have it any other way. This life style is in his blood--it's what he lives by. Most people need air, food and water. Josh needs politics. And he's so skilled at what he does, too. I have literally seen him make the most powerful Senators and Congressman cower in his presence. However, that same attitude almost got him fired. Thinking back to that moment when I brought him coffee, I believe that I would have followed him out the door of the west wing if he had been fired. Josh doesn't know it, but he's turned my life around in so many ways. When he first saw me, I was a destroyed human being. My life had been turned upside down by my ex-boyfriend. But through the years of working side by side with Josh, he's made me into a self-confident person again. 

Well, almost. 

I've gotta stop thinking about this; I push it to the back of my mind as often as I can, but it's getting harder. I'm afraid. Actually afraid now. And with good reason. What could be scarier than realizing you're head over heals in love with Joshua Lyman? 

I've got to hide that, though. I cannot tell a soul. There's a chance it would get us fired. Well, maybe not Josh. Just me. I'm not even sure why I love him; I just do. I mean, some of the reasons are obvious; Josh is a very attractive man. He's older than I am, too. That seems to be a weakness with me--case in point with "Dr. Freeride" (to borrow a Josh-ism). I wonder if they have a 12-step program for this kind of thing? 

Anyway, after the debacle with the good doctor, I told myself that it would never happen again. Of course, as if on cue, Josh walked into his office. To tell you the truth, when I walked in the door of the "Bartlet for America" campaign headquarters, I thought that Sam was Josh. I mean I saw Sam leave Josh's office, so I thought I had put two and two together. But math was never my strong point. 

When I first started to get that, you know, fluttery feeling about him, I tried to blame it on having just been dumped. That's how I justified it through the entire election. Truthfully, I grew out of it--and more or less--and instead grew to admire and respect Josh. How could I not? I mean, despite what I say sometimes, Josh is probably one of the smartest people I will ever know. 

So you respect a guy's mind and think he's cute--that shouldn't gel into anything real. 

Then his father died. 

It broke my heart to tell him that news, especially since it was just minutes after he and the others won the Illinois primary for then-Governor Bartlet. I surprised myself when I offered to accompany Josh back to Connecticut for the services. He politely refused, stating that I would be more valuable to him on the campaign that having to sit through a funeral of a man I never knew. I wish I had known Noah Lyman; it would have been a honor to meet the man who instilled so much passion and enthusiasm in Josh. 

Losing his father was hard on Josh, but he handled it with the same courage he handled the shooting and its aftermath. Something in him changed subtly when he bid farewell to his father. I noticed immediately; how could I not? When he joined the campaign again in California, he started giving me more responsibilities, even putting me on salary. We began to banter and talk--he would explain things to me more often rather than just bark terse orders. 

By the time our second Christmas rolled around, I wasn't sure if I should feel anything for him. I mean, is one-sided affection love at all? But things had changed between us--evolved slowly. With the first holiday season, I barely got a 'Merry Christmas' out of him--which was miracle because Josh isn't big on any holiday (Christian or Jewish). 

But the next year, I saw how sweet and caring Josh can be. _The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing_. It still sits on my desk in the bullpen, right next to all the other things I cherish. That inscription really got to me. It was so touching; I found out how much I meant to him as a colleague and friend. Maybe that's when my admiration grew from friendship to what the other assistants call 'puppy love.' 

Then Rosslyn. 

I won't go there, except to say that that's when my 'puppy love' grew into absolute love for him. When you come close to…no, I won't go there. 

I take another glance over, and he's picked up the papers again. Politics and Josh are like peanut butter and jelly - they go well together. That's why I tried to set him up with Joey Lucas. They both love the game of politics. They're both equals when it comes to intelligence (although don't let Josh know I said that) and nobody would care if they started dating. Joey would be great for the campaign. She would help the President win. Josh caught me off guard when he asked me why I was trying to set them up. 

And my quick brain came up with: "If you got married, you'd be Joshua and Josephine Lucas-Lyman. You won't have to have you towels re-monogrammed." No wonder I only got a 510 verbal on my SATs. Although, come to think of it, he's been awfully distant and aloof when I mention Joey. 

I, on the other hand, would be a complete and utter distraction for the reelection campaign. I have this recurring fear that the reporters would be more interested in our personal lives half-forget that President Bartlet is running for reelection. I can hear Danny Concannon now: "CJ, are Josh and Donna sleeping in the same hotel room tonight? When will they be moving in together? When can we expect a formal engagement announcement? Oh, yeah how's the President's reelection thing going?" This will be a serious campaign about serious issues; there's no room for romance on the platform, and I will not be a burden to this administration or the President. I refuse to. 

So once again, I've talked myself out of leaning over and revealing to him the one thing about me he doesn't know. I'm not playing the martyr, but for the sake of this campaign, for the sake of our careers, I will set my happiness aside. 

I just wonder how long I can do this. As long as I have to, I suppose. Which, though difficult, is fine because to tell you the truth, even if I did say something, there's no guarantee that Josh feels the way I do. 

Once again, I hear the papers being rustled. I close my laptop and turn to face him. 

"Josh, ssh. You'll wake the others--well, everybody but Sam. He's still working. There's nothing more to do here. You should try to rest. You look like hell." 

Josh turns to me. "Well, I could say the same for you, Donnatella. Get some sleep." 

I love it when he says actual my name. 

"Only if you do the same. You've hardly slept at all since we left DC. I won't feel right about sleeping while you're working. Besides, there's _nothing_ more you can do until we land in a few hours." 

"Fine." He leans back and extends his legs. Within minutes, he's fast asleep. I think. 

I place the laptop in the empty seat next to me and try to get as comfortable as I can. I close my eyes and try not to think about the body next to me. I would just love to say "Screw Politics" (to borrow another Josh-ism) and let Josh and the world know how I feel. But…I fear I've become too much like a politician. Can't…_yawn…_let personal…_yawn…_matters interfere with…_ yawn…_the job. 

_ Tap... tap... tap_

Without needing to open my eyes and look, I reach over and grab the pencil out of his hands. 

***************** 

Air Force One landed, as always, on time. Though no president is ever known for his promptness, no such thing can be said for his air transport. The plane touched down as scheduled at 8:30 a.m. EST on the nose. The most spectacular piece of private transportation funded by the public taxied down the runway toward the hangar where the normal greeting entourage was waiting: the contingent of press, a ground crew, several ominous looking black Suburbans with full security detail and Leo McGarry, White House Chief of Staff. 

Once the stairway was in place, the doors opened and President Bartlet, a spring in his step like a child returning from summer camp, descended, waving to the press while speaking orders to his body man, Charlie Young. Charlie, technically known as the president's personal aide, led the rest of the senior staff from the plane. 

They did not appear as refreshed as the Commander-in-Chief. CJ Cregg grasped the handrail as her knees wobbled. She concentrated on each footfall to insure that she didn't tumble from exhaustion headlong down the steps. Behind her was the perennially staid Toby Ziegler. However, even Toby--an insomniac by trade--appeared weary. The dark bags under his eyes belied a late night proofing speech drafts written by his deputy, Sam Seaborn. Sam followed close on Toby's heels, his eyes cast to the ground and worry hunched in his shoulders. The last to exit were Josh Lyman and Donna Moss. As always, they walked side by side, their steps matching rhythmically like a masterful sonata. 

"Good morning, Mr. President," Leo said greeting him at the bottom of the ramp. "How was San Diego?" 

The President nodded and smiled. 

"It went well, Leo," he said heartily. "I only managed to piss off 20 percent of the people this time around." 

"Well, sir, that means that our approval rating is up to 55 percent there." 

"Don't bet on it," Bartlet said. "They haven't heard my energy package deal yet." 

"Yes, sir," Leo sighed knowingly. "Listen, about this thing…" 

Bartlet raised his hand to cease any further discussion. 

"No, it's Sunday," he intoned. "I have just enough time to get back to the residence and get ready for church. And after that, I'm placing my presidential posterior on a couch to watch an Inter-League baseball game. The Cardinals and the Yankees." 

"Ugh! Inter-League sucks," Leo said with audible disgust. "It's as bad as instant replay." 

"Try as you might, you grumpy old codger, it's baseball and I'm going to watch it. Charlie! Let's go!" 

Charlie sprinted to catch up. 

"Yes, sir," he remarked eagerly. 

"Ready for the peanuts and Cracker Jacks and all that good stuff?" 

"Yes, sir, but I must remind you that Mrs. Bartlet strictly forbids you to eat onions on anything." 

"Ah, Charlie, she won't know." 

"Sir, I beg your pardon, but Mrs. Bartlet…" 

"Shut up and get in the car." 

"Yes, sir." 

The President and Charlie entered the limo without taking questions from the press--a common occurrence for the president on a Sunday. Leo watched the limo depart with the majority of the Secret Service following suit. He then turned to his raged looking staff. 

"You guys look like hell," he remarked with a rueful shake of his head. "What the hell happened?" 

"We're suffering cultural burn out," Josh remarked. 

"What culture?" Leo asked. 

"Any," Josh remarked. "I've never seen so many libraries and museums in my life." 

"Yeah, it was probably the first cultural thing you've seen since elementary school." Donna retorted. 

"I'll have you know that I spent many an afternoon in college studying." 

"What? The student body?" 

"Okay, this time I mean it," Josh said hotly. "You're fired."   
"Sure," Donna said. "And, trust me when I say, for the 96th time: Impervious. Face it, Josh. You're stuck with me. No one else will work with you." 

"Lots of people would work with me," he said. "Donna, do you have any clue how many people want your job?" 

"Do you know how many people want your job?" Leo asked Josh pointedly. "Could the two of you shut up? Thank you. Toby, Sam, ride back with me. I want to discuss the President's upcoming speech. CJ, you get the pleasure of riding with Frick and Frack." 

"I refuse to be held responsible for my actions," CJ said rolling her eyes.   
The group split up and walked to the two remaining limos. 

Sam hung back for a moment, watching Josh and Donna walk to their ride, impressed by the near perfect cadence of their movements. It was the same when they argued. They didn't talk over each other or shout in a jarring manner. It was as though they were playing with a set of rules only they knew and understood. Even the venom in their comments was tactically not lethal. Despite the sharpness of the discourse, none of the digs were even mean. Sam noted this particularly in Donna's words. Josh could be hotheaded and occasionally go to far, but only when he was feeling passionate about something... or someone 

"Sam!" Toby shouted as he held the limo door open. "Are you coming with us or are you going to walk back to the White House?" 

"I would be joining you," Sam said shaking his head to clear his thoughts. 

He sprinted towards the car. 

_ This is why I need to talk with Toby_, he thought. _It's even distracting to me_. 

He readied himself for an uncomfortable conversation, but that was both a blessing and a curse. The reason for the added degree of unease was the presence of Leo. Leo wouldn't want to hear this conversation, but Leo had known Josh longer than anyone else in the White House. He would know what to do about this... this.... thing. 


	2. Homecoming

Body **Title**: The Quest, chapter 2   
**Authors**: __Westwinger247 and__ Ellie   
**Posted**: March 18, 2001 

The ride from Andrews to the White House was usually very pleasant for Sam. He normally enjoyed watching the nation's capital appear on the horizon then slowly blur past the tinted windows. This particular Sunday should have been an exceptional ride as the humidity of late spring was missing; the morning was mild and the sun was bright. 

But Sam noticed none of those things. He couldn't. His thoughts and observations, particularly those from the plane, gnawed at him, making him feel like a vile traitor to one friend and like a reluctant messenger to his captains. It was unbearable. 

He didn't know how to start the conversation. How was he supposed to tell these two men what he noticed between Josh and Donna on the recent campaign trip? And then what? What could they do, for surely something needed to be done. But how to do it without causing irreparable harm? The team of Lyman/Moss worked like a well-oiled machine. Removing one of the cogs, however, would cause the whole thing to come to a screeching halt. 

"Okay, you two," Leo said. "What've you got on the President's speech?" 

"Well," Toby said in a firm, but tired voice, "out of twenty-five paragraphs that Sam's given to me, we're able to use 10." 

"Sam, we are going to make it pop and have it ready by Monday evening?" Leo questioned the deputy. 

"Yeah… okay… yeah, sure." Sam sighed, looking out the window, his mind focused on other things. 

"You all right, Sam?" Leo asked. 

Leo's demeanor to Sam had changed subtly since he found out about Sam's father's nearly three-decade indiscretion. It was almost enough to forgive Sam for hitting on Leo's own wife before the election. Sam had taken the news of his father's infidelity hard; one of the pillars of his universe had been toppled. Leo, like the others, found himself paying closer attention to the speech writer. All the members of the senior staff were part of like family to him, but Josh and Sam were akin to the sons he never had. 

"Yeah… no," Sam turned towards Leo and Toby. "Look, I don't know how to say this, but I'm worried about Josh." 

"Why?" Leo asked. 

"I'm afraid that in light of recent events, there could be a major stumbling block when it comes to having his complete attention for the upcoming campaign," Sam said formally. 

"You mean Donna," Leo said flatly. 

Toby threw up his hands. 

"Oh for cryin' out loud!," Toby seethed. "Not this again! Look, we've been through this before. There is no 'Josh and Donna' problem. In fact, there is no Josh and Donna at all! And, if there were, they're two consenting adults and should be able to do whatever they please, _IF_ there was an issue." 

"Yeah, in theory, I agree with you, Toby, but in fact, I have to agree with Sam," Leo said shaking his head. "We gotta have his full attention and anything that detracts from that is a problem. Face it, Sam and I know all too well his track record with women." 

"Yes," Sam said. "Toby, you should have seen the two relationships he had before Mandy." 

"Right," Leo nodded in agreement. "Toby, tell me this: Do you think that if we get anything less than 150 percent from Josh we can win this thing again?" 

"Well, so far we're okay," Toby said as he scratched his beard, thicker from four days of not trimming it. 

"So far isn't good enough," Sam said. "Personally, I don't feel much like finding a new job come January." 

"Well, maybe you're both wrong," Toby argued. "Maybe you're reading into things that aren't there." 

"You're as blind as Josh," Sam muttered. 

"My next point, thank you," Toby said. "I think there is ample evidence to establish that Josh hasn't used that particular section of his brain in quite some time. I'd be surprised not to find cobwebs on it." 

Sam shook his head. 

"I wouldn't bet on it," Sam sighed. "Unfortunately, the seed was planted during the State of the Union."

"What do you mean?" Leo asked. 

"Well," Sam said, "we can thank Joey Lucas as well as Donna for that. The entire time Josh was at the phone banks, Donna kept pressuring him to ask Joey out. She even told me to tell him to do it. Then he admitted something to me at breakfast with the President…"

"Oh, God, the President knows?" Leo interrupted. 

"No, this was before he came in," Sam said quickly. "Anyway, Josh admitted to me that he doesn't like Donna going out with other guys. Maybe it's because it interrupts his work style with her being gone. Or it could be the other thing. Well, later that night, or morning, considering it was 3:30 when he stopped by my office, Josh told me that Joey informed him that Donna's got a bad case of Josh-itus." 

"Josh-itus?" Toby replied. "You're naming diseases after him? This is why only 10 of those pages are barely usable." 

"Well, Lyman-itus sounds deadly," Sam said. "I just thought that by changing..." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Leo interjected with a raised voice. 

"Oh, right," Sam said returning to his original topic. "See, Joey told Josh that the reason Donna was pushing so hard for them to go out was because her feelings for him were starting to show; that's why Donna was trying to hide them by having Josh and Joey date, if Joey was around them for just a few hours and she figured it out, then I don't see how you can deny there is anything there at all, Toby, when you spend so much time with them, especially after this last trip, where you will probably remember they spent nearly every moment together working, up to an including the entire plane ride back here without sleeping." 

"How did you manage to say that entire thing without taking a breath?" Toby asked as he sat back in his seat with his arms crossed. 

"Real lawyers can do that," Sam quipped. "Says so in the manual." . 

"You must have been absent the day they taught grammar," Toby retorted. 

"I really am just a substitute teacher," Leo mumbled. "Look, guys, I think something needs to be done--to head off a problem that could crop up in the future. I'm not sure what we'll do, but we'll figure it out. Let me mull this over, and I'll get back to you." 

"Yes, sir." Toby and Sam said in unison. 

"Now, for actual matters of state," Leo sighed. "There's a report about to hit the front pages that links BST to a disease similar to mad cow disease." 

"What?" Sam shouted. "That's a total fabrication!" 

"I know," Leo said. "Which is what we'll be saying if the media machine kicks up a panic. Sorry guys, that's why I need the speech ready by Monday because we're going to be playing dodge and parry with alarmists most of the week. It'll settle down eventually, but for now, Sam, finish the draft. Toby, I need you to coordinate with FDA and Agriculture." 

"Why not Josh?" Toby asked. 

"Because I need someone to man the phones and keep a couple twitchy congressmen, who unfortunately also sit on Ways and Means, from fueling the panic," Leo said. "I hope you all got some sleep on the plane because it's going to be a long day." 

The remainder of the ride was quiet, each man contemplating his new tasks--and at least two of them wondering how to deal with two good friends on the brink of something more than friendship. 

None of the men wanted to see Donna fired or reassigned. And they especially didn't want to have to deal with Josh if that happened. They knew Josh would be distracted if he realized his feelings, but Josh would be of absolute no use to them if Donna were taken away from him. 

S_o,_ Leo thought, _how do I make this happen? How do I go about telling a guy who I consider to be like a son to me that he cannot have anything to do with the woman he loves?_ __God, it really is easier raising a daughter. 

***************** 

To: nalyman@soconn.net   
From: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
Date: 27MAY2001   
Time: 22:50   
Subject: We're back 

_Mom,_

_ I know I said I would call when I got back from the coast, but somehow the 14 hours since I got off the plane disappeared. We returned to a beautiful morning, which promptly took a nose-dive into hell. I can't say much right now, but trust me when I say, in the next three days half of your friends are going to have heart attacks and proclaim they have become strict vegetarians. However, I can also assure you that two days after that, they are going to feel like damn fools. Enjoy the upcoming show; I've done my best to make it lively._

_ Suffice to say, because of what I just mentioned, I only now found a moment to sit down. Now that I have, I see that the phone is way across my desk where it would take more energy than I have to stretch for it. So, since I'm sitting at the computer already..._

_ What can I say, it's been one of those weeks._

_ You'd be proud of me, though. While traveling with the President, I managed to shut my mouth for almost 50 percent of the extra-_

"I'd say it was more like less-than 20 percent and that was only because you were on the phone with Leo most of the time," Donna said, leaning over his shoulder and interrupting his writing. 

Sunday evening had fallen in the capital yet the office still hummed. The White House was not a place that rested often. What was supposed to be just a few short hours in the office in the morning had bled into an all day affair as the senior staff tried to slap political Band-Aids on the issues that had gone awry since they left the previous week. Having pulled most of the loose and fraying threads back together so that the scheduled chaos of Monday would be unhindered, many of the staff had left. Sam and CJ had signaled their departure half an hour earlier. Toby had left just moments after they did. The President was in the residence, allegedly having it out with First Lady about appropriate foods, and Leo was skulking somewhere in the building, scowling for reasons Josh refused to fathom. 

"Excuse me?" Josh asked turning to stare at her. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"You shouldn't give your mother a false impression of how you behaved," Donna said, reading over his shoulder. "First, because you shouldn't do that to your mother. Second, because your mother knows you, Josh. I know she thinks the world of you, but she's under no delusions about who and what you are. She'll never believe that you pretended to be well-mannered half of the time. Your mother's not stupid." 

"I'm aware of that," he snapped. "I'm also aware this is a private letter that you were not invited to read." 

"Fine, but I'm just saying..." 

"Donna!" 

"Why is it N.A. Lyman?" she asked, pointing to the screen. 

"Why is what?" he asked. "Her address? Noah and Anna Lyman. N.A. Lyman." 

"Really?" 

"I don't know!" he said. "I didn't pick it! It's just the address my father sent to me five years ago when they got it. I didn't ask." 

"So you just assumed," she remarked. 

"Go home, Donna," he said. 

"How long are you staying?" 

"I'm just gonna finish this and check in with Leo," he said. 

"You should get some sleep," she said. "And I don't mean at your desk." 

"I'll sleep in my car as I drive home, how 'bout that?" he remarked as he returned to his letter. 

"See, it's because of stuff like that that your mother would never believe you were good boy on the field trip," she remarked. 

"Goodnight, Donna," he called. 

_-circular activities we were "encouraged" to attend with him. For the sake of balanced reporting, I should tell you that Donna takes a different view of my patience level during the unending itinerary of museums and obtuse historical spots we visited. But I have come to expect no more nor any less from her._

"Hey, Josh?" 

"This isn't home, Donna," he responded. "I know I keep you here for long hours, but I'm pretty sure you know where you live still." 

"I know," she said. "I just wanted to tell you to tell your mother I said Hi!" 

"Yeah, I'll make sure I get that in here." 

"Will you?" 

"She's my mother," he said. 

"Yeah, but I like her," Donna replied. 

"Then send her your own e-mail." 

"I will." 

"Don't write to my mother," Josh said. "You've got your own mother." 

"But my mother doesn't have e-mail," Donna replied. "Tell her I said Hi! See you tomorrow." 

"Hey, don't forget I need you here by 7 a.m.!" he yelled as she closed his door. "And I'm not telling her anything about you!" 

He shook his head and returned to the computer. 

_ By the way, Donna sends her regards._

_ I think between the two of us, we are going to set a record for sleeplessness in a reelection campaign. It feels like a competition all its own sometimes. If anyone would have told me three years ago that the seemingly-flighty blond who hired herself without my permission would one day be one of the few people on staff who could keep up with me, I'd have never believed it._

_ Now, I know since I mentioned the marathon sleep deprivation of the trip you will feel compelled to send me a list of roughly 10,001 reasons why I should take better care of myself. So let's just avoid that discourse with this: You know it won't do any good. At most, this job is an eight year stint. For now, all that matters to me is keeping this administration in this office for one more term, and there's nothing on the planet that's going to dissuade me._

_ When we're done here, I'll have time for inconsequential things like sleep and regular meals._

The pager beside the keyboard chirped. He read the display screen and sighed. 

_ I have to go now. Leo needs me. I'll try to call you some evening this week when I have a few spare moments (as Dad always said, there's no such thing as free time)._

_ Love,_   
_ Joshua_

  


***************** 

White House Chief of Staff's Office   
11 p.m.   
May 27, 2001   
Leo McGarry (White House Chief of Staff): 

_ It's an awful business, sacrificing the happiness of the few for the good of the many._

_ I know it sounds holier-than-thou to put it that way, but I speak from experience. That's how I've lived my life. And, for better or worse, the way those around me are forced to live theirs._

_ I understand why this needs to be done, and if it were anyone else I really wouldn't lose any sleep. Okay, so I probably won't lose any sleep anyway, but it's gonna bother me._

_ I've been thinking lately that I'm getting old. It must be true. I look in the mirror and there is all the proof I need. That's not news, but when things like this start to bother me in a way that has me sitting at my desk late at night wondering about obtuse consequences, I worry. This business is not for the soft or faint of heart. As soon as you get sentimental, it's time to pack it in because that's when you make foolish mistakes._

_ Foolish mistakes are different from stupid mistakes. Those we make all the time--every day it seems (and those are the things I should be worrying about rather than this). The difference between foolish mistakes and stupid mistakes is simple; it's a matter of concentration. Stupid mistakes happen when you are concentrating on too many things at once; your mind or your mouth is hitting on 16 cylinders so it's controlled chaos if you're lucky. Foolish mistakes are just about the opposite. Those happen when you are fixated on just one thing and you put blinders on to everything else._

_ I don't make foolish mistakes._

_ Okay, so maybe I'm not too old yet._

_ The kid... Kid? Josh hasn't been a kid for a long time. Yeah, but he's Noah Lyman's kid. Despite everything else he has become, that's how I knew him first and how part of me will always think of him: as my old friend's son. And that's one big reason why it really bugs me to do this. Noah wanted what all fathers want for their children: for them to be happy. He knew that would never come easy for Josh, not starting out the way he did._

_ I know Josh loves his job. You'd be hard pressed to find 10 people in this city who love politics the way Josh Lyman does. Doing this work half-killed him in a couple of ways, but he's his father's son. There's something in those Lyman genes that refuses to quit._

_ That's one reason I need to do this. When Josh gets a notion, there's nothing on the planet that can dissuade him._

_ So the trick here is to decide what notion he gets. I've just made that decision for him._

_ The notion will be returning Jed Bartlet to this office for a second term._

_ That's where the other reason for doing this to him comes in. Josh is probably one of the best political directors any campaign ever had. You give him the right support and some space to maneuver and it's a guaranteed race every time. I knew that four years ago when all the numbers were against us; that's why I took him away from Hoyne's campaign._

_ Well, our numbers aren't so great now and taking him away from this thing won't be as easy. Hoynes didn't care if Josh stayed in his camp--not until it was too late. Josh didn't mind leaving either; he wanted to win and he didn't believe in his candidate. I offered him something better, and he was in our camp by sunset._

_ But this is different._

_ This isn't a political candidate I'm facing. In fact, this might be a feistier opponent than Hoynes or any Republican. I think it was Twain who said there's nothing more dangerous than a fool with a cause. Well, I think he might have been wrong. There's one thing more dangerous: a woman in love._

_ It's not that I don't trust Donna._

_ I trust her. I like her, too. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that she is the best thing that ever happened to Josh. Unfortunately, that's also why she's a problem. What's best for Josh might not be what's best for the campaign._

_ Now, the trick is how to keep her working with him but keep them apart. I agree with Sam--and that bothers me as much as this whole scheme we're working on. But I can't argue; those two are on an inevitable collision course. If it had happened sooner, maybe the kinks could have been worked out so there would be no concern. But they didn't and there isn't time for it to happen now. A relationship developing out of the office now would be a liability. I'm not talking about image concerns or allegations of impropriety. Please! We're Democrats; we hear that kind of thing all the time._

_ Still, it makes us vulnerable. Nothing between these two could hurt us with the public, but behind the scenes it opens up fissures. I don't want the likes of Ann Stark finding ways to screw with the head of one of my rainmakers--and let's face it, Josh's mind isn't something that can handle a lot more tinkering right now. What he needs is the basic chaos of something he understands: politics. That's why he has to be focused on the campaign. I truly believe for his own good and the good of the campaign, Donna can't be a factor in his mind--at all._

_ So it's up to us, his friends and colleagues, to reroute, stall, hinder, obsfucate and do damn near everything we can to stop this thing._

_ And this I have to do on top of the ten thousand other (and decidedly more pressing) issues on my plate._

_ How will I do it? Well, playing chaperon is not what I have in mind._

***************** 

"Take a seat," Leo said as Josh entered his office. 

"We're set," Josh said. "There won't be any problem with Milquetoast." 

"Congressman Tredwell," Leo corrected him. 

"Yeah, that freak," Josh replied. "He's getting a case of laryngitis this week. A nasty case." 

"Thank you," Leo said. "But that's not what I needed to talk to you about." 

"Okay," Josh said skeptically. "What then?" 

"How are you doing?" Leo asked. "Everything going Okay?" 

"Sure," Josh said cautiously. "What do you want to know specifically? Did Donna talk to you?" 

Leo held his face in a stony expression. It was the one he used when his daughter had tried to snow him through her high school years. It was the one he used with the Vice President when he was threatening to throw the administration to the wolves. 

"There's nothing wrong, Leo," Josh said confidently. "Donna just gets twitchy after long trips. She's on a harangue about sleep." 

"She does tend to spend a lot of time around you," Leo said. 

"I think that's what the whole assistant thing is about." 

"I just meant that maybe you're pushing too much," Leo said. "Maybe she's on your case about sleeping or whatever because she doesn't get any either. Don't get me wrong, you two work well together. I'd just hate to see you ruin that; she may be your assistant, but she's a member of this administration. She does things for everyone. We never would have ended Stackhouse's filibuster without her." 

"What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying I think you should lay off a bit," Leo replied. 

"What did she say?" Josh asked with too much concern in his voice for Leo's liking. 

"She didn't say anything," Leo said. "She didn't complain. I don't think she would even if I took out thumb screws, but Josh there's a limit." 

"I don't understand," he said. 

"You haven't noticed?" Leo remarked. "Josh, you're running her ragged. We've got a campaign coming up. You really want to be breaking in a new assistant during the primaries?" 

"New assistant?" he repeated. "I don't need a new assistant. Donna's not going anywhere." 

"She's gonna end up in the loony bin if you don't curtail her schedule," Leo said. "None of the other assistants put in 20 hour days as often as she does. Now Sam tells me she could barely hold her head up on the plane while you two were working on the drug legislation briefing." 

"Why does Sam..." 

"'Cause Sam's a sensitive guy," Leo said. "You and I don't notice those kind of things, but Sam was worried about Donna." 

Leo paused, knowing that statement rang true. He watched Josh add up what had been said. Leo knew Josh was combing through the previous week, looking for anything that might augment or deflect what was being said. In the end, he merely looked down, a guilty cast in his eyes. 

"We all know how quickly burn out can happen in this place," Leo said. "I just don't like it to happen unnecessarily. Cut her some slack; give her some space. That's all I'm saying." 

Josh nodded, looking effectively scolded. Leo knew he had said much more to Josh than just the few words he had spoken. If Josh's feelings were what they appeared to be, he would make a concerted effort to restrict Donna's necessity to be with him in the office. It wouldn't mean a lot in cutting back her hours as working for Josh would be a time consuming job for any assistant, but having Josh step back, even in such a minuscule way, would be something Donna would pick up on, Leo knew. 

He hoped she would take the hint. 


	3. New Boundaries

Body **Title**: ****THE QUEST, chapter 3   
**Authors**: __Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Posted**: March 24, 2001 

The week went as Leo predicted with a lot of screaming between consumer and health groups and medical experts. Rep. Tredwell did come down with a near-fatal case of laryngitus--but only after some additional prompting. At 1 p.m. on Wednesday, he appeared at a press conference of a fellow legislator. CJ Cregg heard rumors of his intended maneuver and sent one of the spinboys (the White House ringer in this circumstance) to the Hill immediately. While the other legislators huddled in the front of the room, waiting for the press to get their microphones set up, Tredwell looked up to see Josh standing in the back of the room. Josh merely shook his head twice and Tredwell nearly choked. The congressman excused himself from the room and was said to have gone home for the day. 

CJ was grateful; the maneuver made her day five minutes shorter. 

"Hey, Sparky," she called to Josh as he returned to the office four meeting later. 

"You know, no one likes it when you do that," he said. 

"What? Change their names?" CJ asked. "What would you prefer?" 

"I like what the House Majority Leader calls me," he said as they traversed the halls. 

"The Prince of Darkness?" CJ remarked. 

"Actually, it's Joshua Lyman, Prince of Darkness, master of all he surveys," Josh responded as they reached his bullpen. 

"Master?" CJ repeated. "Yeah, I think you did some editing." 

"Actually, Sam did," Josh replied. 

"Okay, you two need to spend some time apart," she said. "But not tonight. I'm taking you and Sam out. You both made the two o'clock briefing mercifully short which allowed me to get in to see my hairdresser." 

"You had your hair done?" 

"Yeah," she said, tousling her copper locks. "You like it?" 

"It looks the same as it did this morning," Josh said. 

"This is one of the reason women dump you," CJ said as she strode out of the area. She called over her shoulder as she disappeared. "Tell Sam we're leaving around 8." 

Josh nodded then turned to see Donna at her desk. She looked up at him expectantly. His first inclination was to tell her to tag along, but he was worried she would take it as an order and feel obligated to accompany them. It sounded idiotic, but Leo was firm in his orders to let Donna have time to herself and away from the office. Even a casual evening with CJ and Sam would inevitably dissolve into discussions of work--they might even end up back at the office to work. 

"Could you get me the transcript of the last senate hearing on the Patience's Bill of Rights?" he asked. 

"Okay," she said, still sporting an expression of anticipation. "Is that all?" 

"Uh, yeah," he said with a definite nod as he approached his door. "Any messages?" 

"No." 

"Okay." 

He went to his desk and turned his computer on with a vicious stab of his finger. He felt like a heel. He couldn't change his mind now and invite her after that. She would think she wasn't wanted there. 

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he tapped into his e-mail. His mood was only slightly elevated to note among his messages, one he felt was long overdue.   


To: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
From: nalyman@soconn.net   
Date: 01JUN2001   
Time: 10:02   
Subject: Welcome back 

_Dear Joshua,_

_ While your father never seemed bothered by the unrestrained, spontaneous verbalizations of your opinions, I, for one, I am glad to hear that you at least attempted to be polite. Although, I suspect that had I witnessed your week, my assessment would be closer to that of Donna's than your own._   
_ Spring is finally in bloom with just three weeks to go until summer official begins. I spent last week tending to my roses and am wondering yet again why I ever let your father talk me into planting so many._   
_ Don't worry about trying to call; I know how busy you are between giving Leo heart palpitations and ruining Donna's social life. Perhaps I will turn on CNN and catch a glimpse of you. I may one day forget what your voice sounds like but at least I'll recognize you in crowds_.   
__You will notice that I delayed responding to your letter. I did this so that I could compile the complete 10,001 nagging points you do not wish to hear. Honestly, Joshua, you manage to convey a surly tone even when you type. And, this will come as no surprise to you: I will not heed your admonishment. It is my duty, as well as my pleasure, as your mother to inform you that you may be adept at political maneuvering, but you are woefully inadequate when it comes to taking care of yourself. Now, if you had a wife who could look after you...   
__I will go no further with that subject as I know my opinion falls on deaf ears. Sleep. Eat. Take care. 

_ Love always,_   
_ Mom_

_ This again_, he thought as he rolled his eyes. He didn't have time to start this debate yet again, but he also knew it would be impossible to let it slide. 

"Here's the transcript," Donna said dropping a folder on his desk. 

"Yeah, just a second," he said as he began typing. "I gotta take care of this." 

To: nalyman@soconn.net   
From: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
Date: 01JUN2001   
Time: 15:35   
Subject: Re: Welcome back 

_ To again quote Dad: You are entitled to your opinions--and I am entitled to my facts._   
_When I meet a woman who can deal with me and my schedule without any qualms, then you will have the daughter-in-law you so shameless beg for. Until then, I'll be doing irrelevant things like running the country_. 

_ -Josh_

"Before we start, did Appropriations send over the Redling report?" he asked. 

"Not yet," she said. "Do you need it now? 

"I will after I find what I need in the transcript," he said, looking at his computer again. "Wait. Let me check something. I got a message from them here.... Yeah, it's on it's way--in fact, it's been on it's way for about two hours. They gotta get better interns over there." 

Donna stood with her pen at the ready, anticipating the order to go over to the committee and hound whoever was there into coughing up the report. But again, Josh surprised her. 

"It'll get here eventually," he said. 

"How long have you had the fever?" Donna asked, looking at him with a pointed gaze. 

"I feel fine," he said defensively. 

"Yeah, and I just heard you say something that sounded a lot like you were willing to wait," she replied. "So, you see where I'm coming from with...." 

"Donna.." 

Before either could finish a sentence, the computer chirped--a new glitch many machines in the office were expressing. Tech experts were unclear why the annoying audio effects were being produced, but staffers were uninterested in the hows and whys of possible explanations. They wanted the incessant sounds banished before it drove them full-goose bozo. 

"Hang on," Josh said turned back to the screen with a smirk. "Let me read this."   


To: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
From: nalyman@soconn.net   
Date: 01JUN2001   
Time: 15:40   
Subject: Re:Re:Welcome back 

_ Some might say you reversed some of those letters, dear. Ruining the country as opposed to running it. I wouldn't be one of them, but some might say that. Say hello to Donna for me--and be nice to her, Joshua. As you've said, she's the only person who can put up with you._   


"Oh, I gotta fix this," Josh shook his head as he read his message. 

"What?" Donna asked. "Is there a problem with the Appropriations report?" 

"What? No," he said. "It's my mother. She's getting witty in her old age." 

"She strikes me as someone who was always witty, Josh," Donna said. 

"Well, then she's going senile," Josh said. "She's listening to people who say we are ruining the country." 

"We might be," Donna remarked. 

Josh shot her a seething glare. She held her ground and merely shrugged. 

"I'm just saying it's technically possible," she said. 

"You don't value your job, do you?" 

"I'll be leaving now," Donna said closing her note book. 

"That's a good idea," he replied. He paused and looked at his watch then sighed as he reluctantly made an offer. "Actually, it's almost four." 

"Yeah." 

"You came in early today?" 

"Define early?" Donna remarked. "The sun was already up so..." 

"Why don't you take off?" he said. 

"For how long?" 

"For the night," Josh said. "We're done. I'm gonna spend the rest of the day going over this stuff from Appropriations, and I really can't do much more until they send over the other report, so there's no need for you to stay." 

Donna looked at him quizzically. Normally when he offered her the chance to leave early (and that was usually closer to 8 or 9 p.m.) it was a set up for something else he wanted her to do. Only now there wasn't that aura of the schemer about him. He was, in fact, dismissing her. No strings attached, no argument necessary. 

"Are you really feeling all right?" Donna asked. 

"Huh?" Josh asked, looking up from his file. "I'm fine. We're done here, right?" 

"I guess." 

"See you tomorrow," he said and started reading the transcript. 

Donna walked to her desk but kept peering over her shoulder. She expected him to lean out the door of his office with a patented grin that cried "oh, one more thing..." But the door remained vacant. She checked the schedule for the rest of the day; it was indeed empty. She checked her e-mail to see that nothing important had come in during the previous 20 minutes; none had. She looked at the lineup for the following day; everything was in order. Donna turned off her computer, grabbed her bag and walked carefully, almost stealthily down the hall. 

When she reached the security desk, she paused and stared down the hallway briefly. 

"Did you lose something, Donna?" Sam asked as he passed through security as he returned from a meeting on the Hill. 

"No," she said. "Sam, what's going on?" 

"A lot," Sam replied. 

"With Josh?" 

"Oh, there, not much," Sam nodded. "Until he hears this, that is. Agriculture and the FDA are going at it hammer and tongs over the bio-research snafus in the heartland." 

"Oh, is it urgent?" 

"Not yet," Sam said. "Just important. Where are you going?" 

Donna paused. She didn't know. She could go home; going home in daylight might be a novel experience, but what would she do then? 

"Josh sent me home," she said. 

"He did?" Sam asked in disbelief. 

But his shock was only one emotion Donna sensed in Sam's tone. There was something else. Relief? Victory? She shook her head. Maybe she was more tired than she realize; she was starting to read conspiracies into the actions and reactions of her coworkers. She knew she should be glad for this gracious time off. Actually, it wasn't even time off. If she tallied up all the hours she had worked over and above her paid time, the government probably owed her an entire year salary. Thinking of her evening away from the White House as compensatory time was easier to swallow, though it still didn't seem quite right. 

"Have a good night, Donna," Sam said brightly. 

"Yeah, you too," she replied and drifted out the door into the late afternoon sunshine. 

**************** 

To: nalyman@soconn.net   
From: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
Date: 8JUNE2001   
Time: 13:12   
Subject: Your son 

_Dear Mrs. Lyman,_

_ First of all, I want to say Hi. I asked Josh to tell you that when he e-mailed you last week, but I doubt he did it. He said I should just do it myself, so here I am._   
_ Also, I wanted to tell you what a great job Josh has been doing lately. He was able to quiet Milk…- Congressman Tredwell and his constituents. You should have seen him in action; he was brilliant! And he did it all on his own._   
_ Which is actually why I'm writing..._

"Hey, Donna," Carol said waving at her as she entered the Mess. "I'm surprised to see you here. Is Josh out of the building?" 

"No," Donna replied closing her laptop. "He's in his office mulling over the latest polling numbers. It was his idea to send me to lunch." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. Which is very troublesome. He's not been himself for the past week, Carol." 

"How so?" Carol asked, sitting down. 

"I really can't say, because I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what's bugging him. Something's... off. I don't know what that something is; I mean, it hasn't manifested itself yet. I don't think anything is.... well, wrong, but I don't know. He's not mad at me, at least I don't think he is, but it just feels like... I don't know." 

"Ah," Carol said, waving the notion off, "it's probably just the upcoming Summer Campaign Kick-Off Celebration. They're all trying to psyche themselves up for it. Everyone's getting a little crazy. Don't let it bug you." 

"Okay," Donna said as she reopened her laptop. "I've gotta finish this thing." 

"Sure," Carol replied, standing up. "I've got to get back to CJ anyway. Donna?" 

"Yes?" Donna answered. 

"It's nothing." 

"Okay." 

She took a bite of her salad and returned to the e-mail. 

_…to see if Josh has mentioned anything. Usually, Josh can't finish a report without my help. Don't get me wrong, I did help him. I just wasn't there for the usual twenty hours workdays like I usually am. He's begun been sending me out of the office for lunch. He's giving me free time. I even got an entire weekend off._   
_So, it has me wondering. I don't mean to worry you or anything, it's just that Josh is not acting like... well, Josh. Not entirely, anyway._   
_There's a kink in our system and I haven't quite figured out what it is. Forgive me if I sound like a giddy high-school teenager asking you if Josh has said anything about me. I think because we spend so much time together, I can pick up on even the most minute thing that's upsetting him. But this time, I'm clueless. I wish I could read Josh like you can. But, I know it's something that only a mother and her son have._

Donna's pager went off. She read the displayed and smiled. 

_ I must close for now. It looks like your son can't find a folder that's probably right in front of his nose. Please don't let him know that I contacted you. He'll be furious that I talked with his mother about him._   
_ You should come down for the Kick-Off Celebration. I know Josh would love to see you. I would, too. If you're unable, then we will definitely see you in February when he head to New England for the New Hampshire primary._   
  
_ Warmest regards,_   
_ Donnatella Moss_

  


***************** 

"You paged?" Donna asked as she entered Josh's office. 

"Yeah," Josh said. "Where's the file on the biotech corn research?" 

"You mean the one about 430 million bushels of genetically engineered corn?" Donna asked. "It's in the yellow folder one the upper left corner of your desk marked 'Biotech Corn.'" 

"Thanks," Josh replied. "You can go back to your lunch now; sorry I bothered you." 

Josh picked up the folder and sat down at his desk. He flipped it open and began scanning the notes that Donna had pulled for him. StarLink corn, or Cry9C, was inadvertently delivered to buyers. Over 300 corn products had to be recalled after testing positive for the substance, which the FDA had not approved for human consumption. It was Josh's duty to find out all he could about this problem and report to Leo on how to handle it. 

"Ahem," Donna cleared her throat. "Are you sure you don't need me?" 

"Yeah," Josh replied without looking up from the folder. "We're done. See you around two."   
  
"Okay," Donna said tersely, "what is wrong with you?" 

"What do you mean, 'what's wrong with me?' Nothing's wrong with me?" 

"Well then, why don't you want to spend any more time with me?" 

That response stopped Josh's reading. He closed the folder and placed it up against his chest. He still didn't look at Donna. 

"Because we've decided to not work the assistants so hard right now." 

"Who's _we_?" 

"You know who, Donna," Josh said flatly. "Look, at the end of this month, when we're gearing up for the thing on the fourth, you'll be working so much, you'll have a cot by your desk." 

"Well, okay," Donna said, still not believing everything he said. "Even so, I'll be at my desk if you need anything." 

"Sure," Josh replied reopening the folder. 

Donna shut the door and Josh looked up from the folder. He ran his fingers through his already tussled hair and sighed. 

"Well, I'm getting better at lying," he whispered as he sported a scowl. 

He sighed forcefully then kicked his feet onto his desk. He slapped open the folder and, with a demonic glare, starting reading 

Meanwhile, Donna sat at her desk, looking at her half-eaten salad. She started to take a bite, but put the fork down. She placed her chin in her hand. 

This was not nothing. Despite what Carol said. This was definitely something. Josh followed laws but did not take orders well. If he had been told not to work his assistant so rigorously, she would have been called into his office for a rapid-fire Q&A to determine if she was being worked too hard. And then afterward, regardless of the conclusion, he would still be expecting her to put in at least a 12 hour day. 

No, the reason for all of Josh's subtleness was something else. 

She feared she had somehow gone to far with what she once thought of as 'Josh and Donna personal time.' What precisely she had done, she could not imagine, but the effect was obvious. What she was faced with now was 'Josh Lyman and Donna Moss – strictly professional.' 

She knew it was probably for the best. It was a bitter relief in fact. She could devote herself fully to the task at hand. She had her answer from Josh without ever having to ask the question. He didn't share her feelings. So, that meant she needed to put hers aside. She wasn't sure how to do that, but she would try. If nothing else, the recent chilling in their friendship would help her to mask her feelings better. Any more brush offs like the one she just received and she would have no trouble hiding how she felt toward him. 

And yet, there was that pang deep in her chest. It was cold and hard and she knew it was regret. Part of her harbored a hope that the new aspect their relationship was taking on was only the result of the upcoming campaign; that maybe when it was over things would return to what they were before, or perhaps something more. 

She shook her head, knowing she was setting herself up for more angst. She then looked at her computer and saw that among her new messages was a reply she did not expect so quickly. 

***************** 

To: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
From: nalyman@soconn.net   
Date: 08JUN2001   
Time: 13:27   
Subject: The tyrant 

_Dear Donna,_

_ It is a pleasure to hear from you--and please, call me Anna._   
_ I hope you have managed to catch up on all the sleep you missed during your recent trip. Josh mentioned that you manage to keep the same hours he does. I realize my son is entirely too stubborn and independent to take direction from his mother, but you're a sensible woman, Donna. Sleep is important. Don't make yourself sick; if you're not around to help Josh, he will be lost and I will certainly begin to worry._   
_He has not mentioned anything that would lead me to believe he is vexed in anyway with you. I think we both know Joshua is not one to hold his tongue when he is displeased._   
_Joshua was always more apt to share things with his father, but a mother has ways of knowing things. You'll understand that when you have children of your own someday. There was a time when I could, as you put it, read my son. However, since the trouble last year, he now makes a concerted effort to make that all the more difficult; he doesn't want me to worry--as if that was remotely possible! When I arrived at the hospital to see him last May, he mustered his strength to look at me and say he felt fine. My son has never been good at lying, but the audacity it took to say that from an ICU bed should tell you the lengths he will attempt to keep me from worry._   
_So in this instance, I am the one who must defer to your judgment on his current state. I have not actually conversed with him recently. The bane of e-mail is that is allows children to say they keep in touch with their parents without having to actually speak with them. Personally, I would rather get a phone call for 10 seconds than a 100 line message._   
_My advice to you, Donna (Josh never asks for advice, so I make it a point to give it to everyone else) is to do what you do best: watch and listen. You know my son better than anyone down there. I haven't forgotten that you were the one who saw he was having difficulties long after he left the hospital. I cannot express my gratitude for all you have done for him. I believe he would not have recovered without your help._   
_Please, feel free to contact me any time if you have further concerns about Joshua, or if you just want to write for no particular reason, that is wonderful, too. Josh does not have to know. He only thinks he has a right to know everything; yet another of his father's influences! Oh, the stories I could tell._

_ Take care,_   
_ Anna_

Donna reread the message several times, hearing Anna Lyman's voice speak the words to her. Watch and listen. It was good advice. She knew she liked Josh's mother for a reason. The woman was both smart and practical. 

She checked her watch. Roughly five minutes left in her lunch hour. That was enough for a quick response to her new pen pal.   


To: nalyman@soconn.net   
From: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
Date: 08JUN2001   
Time: 13:52   
Subject: Thank you 

_Anna,_

_ I just want to say thank you, for several reasons._   
_ First, for your advice. Josh is a fool not to listen to you more often._   
_Second, this is something I wanted to say to you last year when you were around after what happened in Virginia. We were all very worried about Josh because all of us care about him deeply. He is a wonderful man. You and your husband did a fantastic job raising Joshua. We were talking late one night during the first the campaign about our families, and he said his parents had always looked like they were madly in love with each other. I would have loved to have met your husband. Josh still holds him as his hero, even to this day. Josh has earned the kind of happiness you and your husband shared. You should be very proud. He will make some lucky woman very happy some day._

_ Always,_   
_ Donna_


	4. Off To Manchester

Body **Title**: ****THE QUEST, chapter 4   
**Authors**: __Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Posted**: March 24, 2001 

_The White House, Josh's bullpen_   
_June 18, 2001_   
_1:25 p.m._

Donna sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. It had been nearly a month and Josh's attitude still hadn't changed. So Donna's again found herself sitting at her desk with nothing to do for the remaining thirty-five minutes of her lunch hour. If this were a "normal" day for Donna, she would be pulling reference materials, working up index cards and calling Senators, all while eating her lunch. But now, she sat unbothered, unnoticed and feeling unwanted. 

Donna sighed and opened her purse. She pulled out a mirror and her lipstick and began to reapply the portion that was eaten away by lunch when she saw Leo's reflection appear behind her. 

"Hey Donna," Leo said. "You busy?" 

"No," Donna answered. "I'm not needed until two."

"Good, take a walk with me would you?"

"Sure."   
  
Donna placed her things back in her purse and stood up. Leo and Donna came out of her space and past Josh's door. Almost instinctively, Josh appeared in the doorway. 

"Hey, where you going with my assistant?" Josh questioned. 

"I need her to do something and since she's not busy, now's a good time." Leo replied with just a hint of sternness in his voice. 

"Why do – okay, then. Just don't keep her too long," Josh said and disappeared back inside. 

Leo nodded and resumed walking, with Donna in tow. Leo walked at a considerably slower pace than Josh; Donna had to constantly remind herself to slow down. The two walked the halls of the west wing until they came to the Oval Office. 

"Uh, Leo," Donna said, "why are we here?"

"Because the President has something he needs from you." 

"Okay," Donna said, her voice quivering slightly. 

Donna had been in the Oval Office on several occasions, mostly with Josh. This was only her second time without him, but her first time being summoned. Leo opened the door and ushered Donna in ahead of him. 

President Bartlet sat in a wingback chair and looked up when he heard the door open. 

"Donna. Thanks for coming. That'll be all Leo." 

"Thank you, Mr. President." Leo said, closing the door. 

"Thank you," the President replied. 

Donna just stood there, frozen. She didn't know what to do next. 

"Donna, please come sit down," the President said as he motion toward the couch to his left. 

Donna slowly moved towards the President. 

"C'mon Donna. I won't bite," the President said with a light laugh in his voice. 

Donna sat down on the couch and the President handed her a red folder. Donna opened it up and read the bold line: "Annual Kick-Off Campaign Celebration." 

"Donna, I want you to know that your work has not gone unnoticed," President Bartlet said. "Your quick catch of Stackhouse's agenda was brilliant. It saved us all a lot of headaches." 

"Thank you sir." 

"Now, I want you to step it up a notch. You've heard of the Kick-Off Campaign?" 

"Yes, sir," Donna replied. 

"Good. Well this year, I want you to organize it. The whole kit and caboodle – from decorations to invitations to speakers. Your organizational skills are widely known and by keeping Josh in-line you may be the only one who regularly saves our collective sanity." 

Donna smiled, not wanting to burden the President with Josh's sudden change. After all, Josh appeared to be doing just fine on his own. It was Donna who felt she was on the edge. 

"You, Leo, CJ and myself will have meetings every other day to discuss everything that's going right and anything that's going wrong. Donna, this has to be finalized by the first, because the speech is the fifth." 

"Absolutely, sir," Donna said. "I'll have everything done by the end of next week." 

"Okay, but don't neglect your duties with Josh," the President said. 

"That won't be a problem, sir." Donna responded. 

_ Now I have something to do, since Josh lightened my workload,_ Donna thought. 

"That'll be all, Donna. I'll see you on the 20th." 

"Thank you, Mr. President," Donna said standing. She reached the door and paused. 

"Sir, may I just say thank you for believing in me?" 

"Your welcome, Donna

***************** 

_The White House_   
_Office of the Press Secretary_   
_June 20, 2001_   
_4:30 p.m._

"Okay, and make sure that the dais is setup no later than 6:30. We have to do a mike check and the Secret Service needs to be able to check things out," Donna said into the telephone receiver. 

"Yes, Ms. Moss," came a reply from the other end. "We will take care of it. Will you be needing any of our staff?" 

"Let's see," Donna said peering into her binder. "I'll only need them from 2:30 to 4:30 so that they can set up the tables and decorations. Then the White House staff will take over from there." 

"Very well. And thank you once again for choosing the Watergate Hotel to host the President's Kick-Off Celebration." 

"Thank you," Donna replied hanging up the phone. 

"Well, Donna" CJ said as she kicked her heels up on her desk, "I must say that you've managed to get a lot farther in two days than the last person did four years ago." 

"I've had a lot of time on my hands," Donna replied with a hint of sadness in her voice. 

"So, what have you got so far?" 

"Well, the balloons are ordered and the caterer's been called. The invitations have gone out. The Secret Service has the possible guest list and is checking out the Watergate Hotel as we speak. The only thing left is the President's speech." 

"Did you hear that he wants to write it himself?" CJ said as a grin appeared. 

"Yes, and after Toby and Sam regained consciousness, what happened?" Donna said grinning. 

"There's still fighting with him about it." 

"Oh, boy," Donna said rolling her eyes. "Are we ready to go?" 

"Yep," CJ said, planting her feet back on the floor and grabbing her notebook. "Let's roll, sister." 

***************** 

_The Oval Office_   
_June 20, 2001_   
_5:25 p.m_. 

Donna stood nervously tapping her foot outside the Oval Office while waiting for the President to finish with Josh and Sam. The door finally opened and the two deputies walked out. 

"Thank you," Sam said gratefully as they paused outside the office. Charlie instantly entered to check in with the President while Donna waited. "Toby and I were almost sure he was going to write the thing himself." 

"I just told him he should," Josh said, not sounding pleased with the outcome. 

"I know," Sam said. "I was there. You cinched it." 

"I told him he should," Josh said again. 

"I know and he realized what a bad idea it was after hearing you agree with him," Sam said with a grin. "That was helpful." 

"Sure," Josh replied dejectedly. "So long as I have a purpose. You do realize he's going to read us what he wrote. He's not going to let all that work go to waste." 

Sam's expression turned dark and foreboding. His shoulders drooped and he groaned quietly. He and Josh started to leave the outer office and appeared to notice Donna for the first time. 

"Hey Donna," Josh said. 

"Hey," Donna replied as she walked past him when Charlie signaled her to enter. Josh stopped for a brief moment and turned around to face the retreating figure. Josh hung his head and continued back to his office. 

Inside the Oval Office, Donna approached the President's desk and opened her bulging folder. 

"Donna, show me what you've got," the President said as he put on his glasses. 

Donna handed him the folder and the President reviewed all of her impeccable notes--all typed. The President nodded and grinned. 

"This is wonderful, Donna," the President remarked. "What's next?" 

"Well, sir," Donna answered, "All that's left is to do is to start on the follow-up calls to Senators and Congressmen and we're set." 

"Nice. Well, I don't see any reason to have a meeting on Friday, then. We'll postpone it until next Wednesday." 

"Certainly, sir. By then I should have a decent head count." 

"Anything else?" the President asked.   
  
"No, sir. Thank you, Mr. President." 

"Thank you." 

Donna turned and walked out of the Oval Office with an added spring in her step. She was starting to feel important again. She decided that she could deal with Josh's attitude and newfound independence--at least for the moment. She had more important concerns than some old Deputy White House Chief of Staff's sudden urge to be left alone all the time. 

***************** 

_The White House_   
_The Presidential Residence_   
_June 30, 2001_   
_10:36 p.m._

Donna sighed heavily before knocking on the door to the President's residence. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for her, and she didn't want to screw it up. Normally, this place was reserved for senior staff members. But Donna convinced herself that the President believed in her more and more as the days went on and would not have invited her if he didn't trust her. 

** KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK**

"Come in," the President said. 

Donna opened the door to see the President sitting in a chair. 

"What's the final verdict?" the President asked. 

"Well, sir," Donna replied, "Representative Thurman and Senator Leahy have finally RSVP'd. That completes the list of invitees. Senator Edwards will be introducing you, with Representative McIntyre and Senators Nelson and Feinstein each making a brief ten minute speech."

"Donna, let me say that you've did a fantastic job getting this together in under the deadline you imposed upon yourself." 

"Thank you, sir," Donna said lowering her head to avoid the President seeing her blush. 

"Donna, you do understand that you _are_ going to this event. You must see how your hard work paid off." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Excellent. Thank you, Donna. Now go home." 

"Thank you, sir." Donna said on her way out. Once she was out of the President's residence, she pumped her fists in the air. The Secret Service Agents looked at Donna with curiosity. 

"Sorry, guys," Donna said feeling a little embarrassed. "I was just excited." 

The Secret Service Agents nodded, each of them trying to hide a grin. 

Donna bid a hasty retreat down the hall. 

***************** 

_The Watergate Hotel_   
_5 July 2001_   
_10:05 p.m._

"Thank you all for coming out tonight to this event. We're officially off and running. With your continued support, we're gonna win in February, we're gonna win on Super Tuesday and we're gonna win in November! God Bless You and God Bless America!" 

The crowd rose to their feet in unison. The applause and cheers resonated throughout the ballroom of the Watergate Hotel. The Bartlet staff, each wearing formal attire, joined in. Leo and Toby celebrated with a hearty handshake, CJ and Sam gave each other a high-five and Josh gently placed his hand on Donna's shoulder, but recoiled suddenly when he caught Leo's scolding glare. 

"Okay troops, gather 'round," Leo said. "We hit a homerun with the speech. This weekend's the one and only time we have to relax. Then it's crunch time with a capital 'C'." 

"Please," Toby said in disgust, "not the barbecue!" 

"Yes, the barbecue," Leo replied. "Donna, the President's very appreciative of all the hard work you did getting this thing organized. He'd like you to join us at the farm." 

"M-me?" Donna said, taken slightly aback. "I'd be honored." 

Josh, standing at Leo's shoulder dropped his chin instinctively and smiled slightly. He was barely aware he had done it but once he realized it, he put a stern look on his face again. He surveyed the eyes of his colleagues. None appeared to notice. 

"All right, now that that's done, I want everybody at the White House tomorrow at 6:30 am for a 7 am departure," Leo continued. 

"Which means we'll leave by nine," CJ said dryly. 

"We told the President we have a 5 am departure so we can leave by 7," Leo responded. "Now go." 

The group disbanded and headed for the exit. Leo was beside CJ, giving her last minute instructions on the press conference that followed the speech. Sam and Toby were arguing over the section of the speech that the President skipped. The President had already exited surrounded by his Secret Service detail. Josh and Donna completed the parade. They walked together in silence. This manner of walking was becoming the norm for them. Josh had his hands shoved deep into the pockets, and Donna pulled her wrap closer. 

When he noticed that everyone was in deep conversation, Josh pulled back slightly, letting Donna walk ahead. He studied her lines, her movement, the way her blonde hair swayed, her dress. 

_ That dress…where had he seen it before?_

_ Oh. It's that dress. The_ _red one from the date with the lobbyist_. 

The group came to the automatic doors that led them to the warm and slightly humid night air. The rhythmic swoosh of the doors startled Josh. Certain things, sudden movements or sounds, still jarred him--yet another lingering reminder from that night in Virginia. 

The staff piled into their respective vehicles--all except Josh and Donna. They stood on the curb with Josh looking at the DC skyline and Donna gazing up at the stars. 

"I see you kept the dress." Josh said, his gaze shifting from the horizon towards the ground, but never at Donna. 

"Yeah. I decided that after my miserable date with Todd, I deserved a little pick-me-up." 

"Good, I mean, it looks good on you--fabulous actually," Josh said, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

"Thank you," Donna whispered. 

"Do you have a ride home? I didn't see when you got here." 

"Yeah, my roommate Ashley came with me," Donna said pointing towards a tall, ebony-haired woman. 

"Well, okay then." 

"Okay." 

"Good night Donna," Josh said. "See you tomorrow. Sleep well." 

"Thanks," Donna replied. "You, too." 

Josh watched as Donna headed away from him and towards her roommate. Ashley looked at Donna and smiled. Her gaze then shifted to Josh. Ashley's stare went from warm and welcoming to cold and harsh. Josh knew her demeanor towards him was mostly because of the way he treated her cats, especially when Josh came over drunk. But this look had nothing to do with those furballs. This look was all about Donna. 

_ Ashley's just trying to look out for Donna's well-being_, Josh thought. 

Josh sighed heavily and headed towards his car. He unlocked the door and paused before getting in. 

How was he going to make it through the weekend? He knew there was only one answer: keeping busy and staying as far away from Donna as possible. 

***************** 

Donna arrived at the White House at six a.m. with her weekend bag packed and her stomach telling her she should not go. She was nervous. This was the annual gathering of the senior staff. She felt she was a part of the administration, but the senior staff was part of the inner sanctum, the elite enclave who had the ear of the President of the United States. She was an assistant whose claim to fame within these walls was that she was the person who kept the craziest member of the staff in line on occasion. 

She shook her head and chastised herself. Josh was difficult; he was unique; he was particular. He was not crazy. 

She knew she would be early but she came to the office anyway, hoping some task there could make her feel more grounded and stem the jitters in her bones. She walked through the halls, passing a cleaning crew finishing their early morning rounds. The halls were lit but most of the commotion typically present on a weekday was missing. There would be staffers around later, but this was a Saturday; things would be quieter on the whole anyway. 

But quiet was not what she found when she approached her desk. Josh's door was closed, a rare enough sight that she took notice. Light was seeping under the door, another oddity for a room that remained cloaked in darkness most days and nights save the single lamp that sat on the corner of his desk. Inside, Donna could hear voices. 

She sat quietly at her desk, trying not to eavesdrop blatantly; however, she was certain she heard the second door to the office, the one leading to the hallway, open and close. A moment later, the door near her desk was ripped open and Josh stepped out sputtering to himself. 

"Just say screw 'em all and save myself the headache," he seethed as he passed her desk. "Hi Donna." 

He stopped in mid-step and turned around. He looked at her questioningly. She was dressed as casually as he was--jeans and T-shirt. He looked at the clock, back at her, then to the clock again. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

"Waiting," she replied. "What's up?" 

"For what?" 

"What?" 

"What are you waiting for?" he asked. 

"I'm going to Manchester with the rest of you," Donna said. "Leo said the President wanted me to go." 

"Oh, right," Josh said, shaking his head. "I forgot. Well, have fun." 

He walked away; Donna instinctively followed, catching up with his long strides easily and falling into step beside him within seconds. 

"Aren't you going?" 

"I've got things to do," he said. "There was a... Never mind." 

"What?" she asked. "Josh, you don't tell me anything anymore. I feel like I'm being punished. You said after the thing last night that I would be busy again. Well?" 

"You're going with Sam and everyone," Josh said. "Enjoy your weekend in the country. I'm probably going to be here dealing with the New York delegation." 

"All of them?" she asked astounded. 

"No, just the House Democrats from the City," he sighed. "HUD is... Look, it's too complicated to explain in 10 seconds. I've made my decision, and I need to tell Leo." 

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked earnestly. 

He sighed again and shook his head as he clasped her upper arm for a moment. The look in his eyes for a split second screamed he had a list of things he needed her to do, but he faded just as quickly. He let his hand fall away and shook his head. 

"No," he said. "Just have fun." 

He walked away, his mood darkening as he approached Leo's office. He was partially glad he wasn't going on the trip. It would save him from further awkward moments around Donna or from incurring further bouts of Leo's stony stare--something he was seeing more frequently but why precisely he was not sure. Josh was not pleased to be staying in sweltering Washington while his colleagues were heading to the fresh air of New England; even 48 hours of listening to the President pontificate on the beauty and sanctity of New Hampshire was preferable to wrangling with a handful of cranky congressmen looking to create some waves in time for their own campaign announcements. The problem with any political party, Josh thought for the umpteenth time, is that the members may all run under the same banner but they do not all play for the same team. 

***************** 

Sam sat in his office, quietly humming. He furiously typed away on his laptop, finishing a briefing memo on the latest information regarding Mad Cow Disease. He pressed a button and saved what he thought to be an excellent piece of work regarding the seizing of sheep from a Vermont farm, for fear of them being infected with the disease. 

_ Excellent, that is, until Toby gets his hands on it._

** BANG…**

** BANG…**

** BANG…**

"Oh, jeez, not this again," Sam muttered as he stood up and walked the two feet from his office to Toby's. 

"I'm here," he said. 

"Good," Toby replied as he put down the balls. "Have you finished the memo?" 

"Yes, you'll get it when we're on the plane." 

"Why?" Toby inquired with a hint of irritation in his voice. 

"Because you'll be less likely to throw me off the plane at 30,000 feet."

"Don't bet on it." Toby grumbled. "Sam, what the hell are you wearing?" 

"This?" Sam asked, pointing to a rather strange-looking hat that rested sideways on his head. "This is my lucky fishing hat." 

"Well it looks ridiculous with all those…things hanging from it." 

"Those would be lures," Sam replied matter-of-factly. "And I'll have you know that I have caught many a fish with these and look forward to using them at the lake on the President's residence." 

"Don't wear it on the plane or anywhere near the President. I don't want to see it until well after we've landed and you are still far away from the President." 

"I don't see any reason why I have to take it off," Sam said. 

"Sam! Unlike you, I don't care to hear the history of the fish that are in his pond for the entire plane ride, car ride, and whatever else ride I'm going to be subjected to!" Toby yelled. 

"Well, you're just mad because you have to go to the retreat. You've complained every year and every year I have had to hear it because I've had to room with you. This year I'm not going to. You're bunking with Leo. Let him deal with your tirades." Sam said. 

Sam turned and left Toby's office, his fishing hat just barely being missed by the projectile thrown at his head. 

***************** 

CJ sat on the couch in her office, rummaging through her carry-on bag. She wanted to make sure that she didn't forget anything. CJ left behind her laptop, for fear of pulling up her press notes on the high amount of toxins in the bodies of the American public. No, this time she wasn't going to work. If she needed a laptop, she would borrow Sam or Toby's because she knew that one, if not both, would have it. Writers never stop writing. And truthfully, that's why they're the best at what they do.   
  
CJ mentally checked items off her list: Sunscreen-check. Sunglasses-check. Bug spray-check. Calamine lotion-check. Romance novel-check. CJ rolled her eyes at the last one. Why did she even bother to ask Carol for _Purple Passion-the Triumphs and Tragedies of Savannah?_ Because she needed an escape from what was sure to be an excruciating weekend. At least Donna was there to keep her company. CJ figured that her and her "cohort" could have a little fun at the boys' expense. 

CJ buried the book in her bag, zipped it up, and headed for the helopad. 

***************** 

"I'm sleeping with you tonight," Sam announced as he walked into Josh's office. 

"Excuse me?" Josh said, covering the mouthpiece on the phone in his hand. 

He was on the phone--on hold--looking perturbed. The New York delegates had absconded to the City with their gripes not long after offering their scathing comments to the Post, and it appeared they were inspired to do so by another in the other wing of congress in the form of Seth Gillette. 

"At the farm," Sam said. "I'm staying with you this year." 

"Well, you'll have your own bed," Josh said. "And if I don't get what I need out of this call, you'll have your own room entirely." 

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I can't sleep with Toby anymore." 

"Okay, you have to stop saying it like that," Josh warned. "What is that?" 

He pointed at the tattered hat on Sam's head adorned with hooks and tiny feathers and stuff that Josh was certain just didn't belong so close to a person's eyes. 

"This is my lucky fishing hat," Sam explained. "I'm going to wear it when I go fishing. You got the HUD thing settled?" 

"No," Josh said. "That's why I'm still in here." 

"Leo said I'm to beat you unconscious if you won't come with me peacably," Sam said. "No excuses--you're going. We should get moving. The President's on his way from the residence." 

Josh held up his hand to silence Sam. He listened for a second then thanked the caller. He slammed the phone back into it's craddle and cursed under his breath. 

"I hate senators," Josh said as he stood and grabbed his duffle bag. 

***************** 

The farm in Manchester was at the end of a dirt road and surrounded by acres of meadow and dense stands of maples and pines. The house itself, a rambling, 200-year-old clapboard dwelling was stately in it's rustic charm. It could have been any New England homestead except for the slew of secret service agents both seen and only suspected and the fleet of black Chevy Suburbans parked along the long, circular driveway. To the north of the home was a vast, spring fed pond that covered nearly 15 square acres. 

The staff tromped dutifully into the big house via the backdoor as that was how visitors came to homes in New England. Only the Jehovah Witnesses and trick-or-treaters came to the front doors. They dropped their bags in their respective rooms. Per Sam's finagling, he was paired with Josh; Toby was with Leo; and for the first time ever, CJ had a roommate: Donna. 

"Okay, sister," CJ said as she and Donna unpacked their few pieces of clothing. "This year is my year. It's you and me." 

"For what?" Donna asked. 

"Every year those two find someway to...," she paused. "Well, they just act like little boys at summer camp, and I always come out looking like a fool or feeling like one." 

"This is Sam and Josh?" 

"Yeah," CJ said. "Last year, I let my guard down. Josh had just gotten out of the hospital a little while before we came up here so I didn't think he was up for anything. Well, he and Sam used that. Used my better nature." 

"What did they do?" 

"Nevermind," CJ said, her face taking on a red tinge. "A word of advice: Don't let your shoes get out of your sight and don't put them on in the morning unless you make sure they're empty." 

Donna nodded. She was still feeling awkward about being there, even more so now that CJ was recalling past visits to the compound. 

"So, what do we do?" Donna asked. 

"We watch each other's back," CJ said triumphantly. "That's first. Then, when I think of it, we get those two back for everything." 

"But they haven't done anything to me," Donna said. 

"Ah, don't bet on it," CJ said in a conspiratorial tone. "We've been here 20 minutes. That's long enough normally. But not this year. No, this year, Donna." 

"We have each other's back?" she responded reluctantly. 

"Sisterhood," CJ said, clapping her arm over Donna's shoulder. "Now we'd better get going. It's almost 11. The President gives us a little talk to start things off." 

***************** 

The sun, like radioactive egg yolk, bore down from the sky on the staff as they stood on the lawn, listening to the President speak. Tree frogs piped in a chorus of backgroup music as Bartlet rambled through his discourse from the top steps of the porch. 

"Do you see him?" CJ asked in a whisper. 

"No," Donna said looking at those gathered. "Should we be worried?" 

"Cautious," CJ said as the president continued his speech. 

"Because, without teamwork, where would any leader be?" Bartlet asked. "Even the greatest leaders in history..." 

He was using index cards to keep his speech on track. He had been speaking for 30 minutes from the shade of his porch. The White House senior staff, his family and those staffing the farm for the retreat were sweltering in the blazing sun. 

"How much longer can it be?" Toby asked under his breath to Sam who was sweating bullets beside him and had shed his hat to use it as a fan. 

"He was doing some revising on the plane," Sam said without moving his lips. "We should have let him us this thing at the Kick Off." 

"We'd still be there," Toby replied. 

"I know," Sam said. "At least the Watergate has airconditioning." 

"It reminds me of an entry in the log kept by the reknowned explorer Magellan..." Bartlet continued.   
  
"I think he's in the house," CJ said, gesturing with her chin. 

"Shouldn't he be out here listening?" Donna asked. 

"We're not," CJ said. "We're just out here." 

"Which brings me to the point," Bartlet said finally. 

"Thank God," Toby sighed. 

"We are a team," the president said. "We pull together in a time of crisis; we console in times of sorrow; we rejoice in times of... Where the hell is Josh?" 

Bartlet scanned the 20 faces before him. He turned to Leo who was leaning on a porch railing partially in the shade. Leo pointed to the house. 

"Josh!" Bartlet bellowed. "Get out here!" 

Josh appeared moments later, his cellphone glued to his ear and a scowl on his face. 

"Can we get rid of North Dakota?" Josh asked. 

"No," Bartlet answered instantly. 

"You didn't even give yourself a chance to consider it," Josh pointed out. 

"You don't say," the President remarked dryly. 

"I'm just saying that it might be worthwhile," Josh continued. "We could swap it for a piece of Canada--Saskatchewan maybe. I know people." 

"Hang up the phone," Bartlet said. 

Josh spoke briefly it the phone and shut it off.   
  
"Are you finished?" Bartlet asked. 

"The tone in your voice tells me the correct answer is yes."   
  
"Smart boy," Bartlet said. "Now shut up. I was coming to the point." 

"In under 40 minutes no less," Josh said as he descended the steps to join his colleagues. 

"Shut up or he'll start from the beginning," Toby groaned. 

"Where was I?" Bartlet asked. 

"You were coming to the point," Leo sighed.   
  



	5. Weekend In New England

qchap5 **Title**: ****THE QUEST, chapter 5   
**Authors**: __Westwinger 247 and Ellie   
**Posted**: March 24, 2001 

The sun, a fiery orange ball bobbing in a sea of baby blue, was slowly sinking as CJ stood at the end of the dock, surveying the glass surface of the pond. She had spent the better part of the afternoon by Donna's side, keeping a careful watch on Sam and Josh. She hadn't figured out their game yet this year, but she was determined not to be surprised. Both harbored deep, juvenile deliquent tendencies that seemed to increase exponentially the further they got from the west wing. As the late afternoon started to fade, she was tired of anticipating their move. Before venturing to the pond, she verified that they were both engrossed in deep conversation with Leo about Seth Gillette's latest maneuver to throw a speed bump in the president's campaign. Leo didn't feel she needed to be in on the strategy session, so CJ slipped away, telling no one where she was going.

The stillness of the air and water was soothing. She dropped her towel onto the smooth, gray planks of the dock and prepared to dangle her feet in the water and read her trashy romance novel. Yes, it was beneath her dignity and she had been looking forward to it for weeks.

She had just begun to relax when she heard the footsteps behind her. She turned her head suspiciously and spied Josh approaching at a leisurely pace. 

"Josh, go away," CJ said firmly. 

"Why?" 

"You've got that look," she said. 

"What look?" 

"The look like you think you're going to push me in," she said. 

"Don't be paranoid," he remarked. "I'm waiting for a call from Larry about the thing in New York on Monday." 

"Then why are you here?" she asked pointedly. 

"The reception is better out here." 

"Yeah, right," she said. "You've got that look." 

He did, too. His mouth held the hint of a smirk and she was certain his eyes--if she could see them (they were strategically hidden behind a pair of dark wayfarers)-- would surely confirm her suspicions that his mind was up to no good. He stood beside her, his arms behind his back as he leaned on one of the support posts. She leered at him. 

"What are you doing?" he asked innocently. 

"Asking you to leave," she said cautiously moving half a step backward. 

"Can you swim?" 

"I knew it!" she said jumping to her feet and dropping her book. She threw her hands up in a defensive pose. "Joshua Lyman, don't you even think it!" 

"Well, it's too late now," he said. "I wasn't thinking anything until you just did that. Not seriously anyway." 

"Go away," she said loudly, spying Sam and Donna approaching across the immense sweep of lawn that sloped down from the rambling farmhouse. 

_ Ah ha_, CJ thought. _This is the game. Divide and conquer. Crafty of them. I would have thought they would send Josh to occupy Donna_. 

"Bad move," CJ said. "Sam I might have trusted, but not you, Josh. No, I know your game, Lyman. Move along." 

"To where?" 

"I don't care," CJ said edging slightly to the left so that her feet were firmly in the center of the dock. "To hell with sisterhood. This is everyone woman for herself. Go play with Donna." 

"Can't," he said. 

He had yet to move a muscle in her direction and was enjoying the tactical maneuvering she was implementing. He was tempted to fulfill her fears, but he was actually waiting for a call--he was holding his cell phone. 

"What do you mean you can't?" CJ asked. "Why can't you?" 

"Don't know," he said, hearing the others approach. "Just not supposed to." 

"What are you two doing?" Sam asked. 

He and Donna strolled along the timeworn planks, enjoying the bright sun and lack of humidity. Josh turned to answer and caught a blur in the corner of his vision. Reactions and instincts he was still learning to understand and cope with kicked in; he jerked swiftly to the side in time to see CJ lunge toward him then overbalance as he moved. Her momentum carried her forward and she was unable to stop herself before her feet left the solid surface of the dock. 

She shrieked a curse as she hit the water. 

"What the hell!" Sam shouted as he ran to the edge and watched CJ treading water amid ever widening ripples. 

"Joshua!" she shouted. 

"I didn't...," he paused and shook his head. "What were you doing?" 

"Beating you to the punch," she said. 

"Way to go," Sam replied. "You sure showed him." 

Sam offered his hand to CJ, who promptly splashed him with a vindictive slap on the water. Donna hung back, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Sam was taking the brunt of CJ's ire while Josh stood to the side, watching the spectacle, with a bemused expression. He snapped from his solitary state as his phone rang. 

Donna watched his expression change from attentive to startled as he listened to the caller. She drew closer, curious what the trouble was. As she moved forward, Josh started down the dock at a steady pace. 

"No... no, that's okay, Stanley," he said as he passed her. "Right now's fine... Yeah, sure." 

He walked away at a steady clip. Donna stared after him and reigned in her concern. She had heard the name and seen Josh's expression. 

_ Why is he talking to Stanley?, _she wondered_. What's going on now? What's wrong?_

***************** 

Josh sat on the eastern steps of the wrap-around porch that ringed the 200-year-old clapboard house. The sky was a mixture of neon pink and dark azure; a soft evening breeze kissed with the taste of wild roses wafted through the warm air, jostling the wind chimes on the corner of the porch. 

"I'm glad you don't mind," Stanley said after receiving his lengthy response. "It's just that we were in the middle of our card game, a couple doctors and I play poker once a month..." 

"To keep sane," Josh quipped. 

"Something like that," Stanley said with an agreeable chuckle. "Anyway, John--he's a brilliant child therapist, but no head for civics--he was on a toot about that filibuster. I said that there were different rules for the House than for the Senate, but he wouldn't hear of it. So we end up in this heated discussion on the necessity or lack thereof of such things. Well, for one reason or another, neither of us were both at the table for the last couple sessions, but tonight we will be, and I want to finish this thing." 

"You want to win the argument," Josh observed. 

"I want to be informed when I debate," Stanley replied. 

"Sounding a little defensive there, Doc," Josh said mildly. 

"You aren't qualified to analyze me," he chuckled. 

"Says you," Josh said. "It just seems to me the easiest thing to do would have been for you to open a book for your answer. That didn't occur to you?" 

"I don't understand these things, no matter how much I read," Stanley said. "I know the basics, but I recalled that you were very good at explaining the minutia of the hows and whys of governance and political strategy to the uninitiated like me. So, I decided to turn to my expert. Do you mind?" 

"No," Josh said. "You know me. I could talk politics all day." 

"You do," Stanley offered. 

"Oh yeah, I do," Josh said. 

"So, how have you been?" the therapist asked. "You can take that anyway you like." 

"Busy," Josh said instantly. "It's reelection season for the next year and a half. I am on the verge of embarking on the greatest intentional self-assault to the mental faculties and physical stamina anyone who wears a tie to work will ever undergo." 

"And you're loving every second of it," Stanley sighed. "Are you ready for this?" 

"No one's ever ready," Josh said confidently. "But I'm comfortable with chaos." 

Stanley laughed though he refrained from agreeing. He thanked Josh again for his explanation and left the door open for him to call if Josh needed to talk about anything. After he disconnected, Josh sat quietly. 

_ Am I ready to do this?_ he wondered. 

It never occurred to him that he wouldn't be until that moment. But he realized he wasn't the same man who served as Bartlet's senior political director in the last campaign. That Joshua Lyman knew nothing of real fear; he didn't know the reality behind so many of the issues the campaign boasted to improve: better health care, victim's rights and stricter gun control. 

They were just policy issues then. Now, they were personal history. That Josh Lyman knew no limits; there was nothing he couldn't do because he was invincible. This Josh Lyman knew differently. There were cracks in the mental structure that crafted the strategy the last time; faults and fissures that though small could add up to chasms-- after all, something as inconsequential as music had nearly caused a nervous breakdown. This Joshua Lyman had restrictions and boundaries and because of them knew he was not capable of doing everything the way he had previously; this time he knew he was not safe from all harm; he was no longer immortal. 

In the midst of this contemplation, a deluge from above descended upon him. The icy cascade splashed down his neck and back to the cackle of CJ's laughter. Josh jumped up and whirled around to see her standing on the porch holding and empty pitcher and sporting a satisfied grin. 

"Fair's fair," she said. Then she noted the overly startled, almost terrified, look on his face. "Hey, it's just water." 

"What?" 

"It's only water, Josh," she said looking at him inquisitively. "You won't melt. Trust me. Are you all right?" 

"Fine," he said shaking his head, reorienting himself. "I was... Why did you do that?" 

"You threw me in the pond," she argued. 

"You threw yourself in," he said annoyed but starting to see the humor of the moment. 

"Why would I do that?" 

"Why do women do anything?" 

CJ narrowed her eyes and decided that she had read his earlier alarm wrong. She never thought about Josh as being frail mentally, even after she was told he had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If anything, it made him more of a warrior in her eyes. But the look of shock that appeared on his face as she doused him with the ice water sparked a burst of concern in her. It faded as soon as he made his previous remark. 

"You egomaniacal, chauvinistic, self-centered jackass!" she shouted. "I was minding my own business..." 

"Dumping water down my back is now your business," Josh asked quizzically as he entered the house with CJ fast on his heels. "Did Leo reassign you?" 

"I give good as I get," she said as they climbed the stairs toward the bedrooms. "You're just mad I got you back. I can keep up with the boys." 

"With legs like yours I'm not surprised," he said entering the room he was sharing with Sam. 

He dug into his bag and pulled out a dry sweatshirt and peeled off his soaked T-shirt. CJ stood in the doorway seething and glowering at him. 

"Yeah, go for the easy punch," she said uncowed. "Make tall girl jokes." 

"Do you know what your problem is?" he asked as he turned around pulling the sweatshirt over his head. "You can't..." 

He paused as she blanched and a look of horror appeared in her eyes. She tried to quickly return her face to the annoyed pinch it held before but failed. The vivid marks on his chest, one a star shape the other a taut straight seam, assaulted her eyes. 

"Sorry," she said catching his expression. "I've just never seen..." 

"They're just scars, CJ," he said mildly. "Proof that it healed. You had your appendix taken out years ago, right? So you've got one, too." 

"I know," she said softly. 

"CJ, look at me," he said. 

She lifted her eyes tentatively to his. 

"They're like tattoos," he said. "Souvenirs I'll never lose from a wild night in Virginia." 

Donna stood in the hallway, several feet from the door where they could not see her but she could hear them talking. She froze in her steps when she caught the gist of the conversation. She had seen the scars before--during various stages of healing. Like CJ she was appalled the first time she saw them (of course they were still new when Donna first saw them; she made an ill-timed trip to see him in the hospital and saw a nurse changing the bandages at a time when the sutures were still fresh and Josh was mainly unconscious). Thereafter, any sight of them was an improvement on the first viewing. She knew Josh was self-conscious about the marks on some level and also in a strange way, proud as well, as though they were badges of courage. He told her once they were like the tattoo his grandfather was given in the camp at Birkenau; proof that hate existed and yet he was strong enough to survive it. 

When CJ stepped out of the room, Donna hastily walked the opposite way down the hall as though she was just arriving. CJ followed her and sighed contemplatively. 

"What's up?" Donna asked as CJ sat on the edge of her bed in the room they shared. 

"Oh, nothing," she said listlessly. "I just.... I admire you, Donna." 

"You do?" 

"Yeah," CJ said. 

"Why?" Donna asked sharply. "I mean, thank you. That means a lot coming from you, CJ, but I'm curious why you said it." 

"A lot of reasons," CJ said. "I was just talking to.... I just think that maybe we don't give you enough credit somedays--that we take you for granted. I also wanted to say uou really did do a fantastic job with the Kick-Off the other night." 

"Thank you," Donna said, genuinely grateful. 

"We sometimes forget that even though Josh is your primary task master, you serve the President, too," CJ said. 

**************** 

Evening rolled through the countryside, bringing with it ominous clouds and a sky that grumbled more loudly than Leo after meetings with the budget committee. The wind picked up and began to gust, driving the staff inside. The ear splitting claps of thunder rattled the windowpanes and lightening sliced through the blackened sky. The noise made discussions nearly impossible and, even with the multimillion-dollar upgrades to the home, the lights flickered. 

President Bartlet held court in the immense living room, discussing American history, the social importance of baseball and scads of trivia he had been compiling for years with no outlet to use. There was no discussion of current politics, no mention of the campaign. The staff lounged amid the clatter and shriek of the storm raging on the other side of the wall. As midnight rolled around, the sleepless croud straggled their way to their rooms--grateful for the reprieve from their leader. 

***************** 

Charlie stepped onto the porch, taking in a deep breath of the cool, refreshed air. He was only slightly surprised to see Josh sitting in the corner with his feet propped up on the rail, staring into the smooth darkness. 

"Hey, Josh," Charlie said. "You mind if I join you?" 

"Go ahead," he replied, gesturing to the rocking chair beside him. 

"What are you doing out here?" 

"Couldn't sleep," Josh said. "Sam murmurs. I think he's dreaming that he's arguing with Toby about cutting paragraphs in a speech. It was either suffocate him with a pillow or leave the room." 

"Glad you took the high road," Charlie nodded. 

"Toby won't be," Josh said. "I think Sam's winning the argument." 

They sat in silence for several minutes. Charlie wasn't tired either. After three years with the President, his body was accustomed to very little sleep and jarring that routine, if only for a weekend, was not something he felt was wise. Finding Josh on the porch in an even mood provided him with an opportunity he had waited a long time to find. 

"Josh, can I ask you a personal question?" 

"Go ahead," Josh said mildly. "But the answer is no." 

"No?" Charlie answered, surprised. 

"I never blamed you--not for a second," Josh said. 

"Um, how did you know..." 

"I've been waiting," Josh said. "I knew you were going to ask one day. I wanted to make sure I had an honest answer for you so I've thought about it. It's not your fault they shot at us--you know that, right?" 

Charlie nodded. He carried a lot of guilt with him over that night in Virginia. He knew the only reason he was targeted was the color of his skin. It was not the first time he encountered hate or prejudice, but it was the first time others were caught in the crossfire--literally. 

"I don't pretend to know what it's like of you," Josh continued. "But I do know what it's like to be judged because _'your kind'_ are not what a gang of thugs thinks is the _'right kind_.' I haven't faced it much, but I know a little something about it." 

"Yeah," Charlie said. "My mother taught me there were always going to be people like that, but that there were good people out there, too. She told me not to hate everyone just because of a few bad ones. It sounded simple when I was younger. Now, I know it's not." 

"Mother's have a way of doing that," Josh said. "My mother could explain global thermonuclear war in five simple sentences. I don't know how she does it, but she can make sense of anything--even the senseless acts of others. She doesn't let them off the hook or lessen what they do, but she can see them for what they are." 

"Do you see her often?" 

"No," Josh said. "We play phone tag and volley e-mail." 

"She lives in Connecticut, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"So, why don't you go see her?" Charlie asked. "It can't be that far from here." 

"Maybe three hours," Josh said. 

"You should go," Charlie said encouragingly. "Who knows how busy you're going to be in the coming months." 

Josh said nothing. He shrugged. He had been thinking about the coming months a lot since his conversation with Stanley. Much of his enthusiasm for the campaign was shifting into dread. He looked at his watch. It was just after 2 a.m. He did some quick figuring and adjusting of his schedule. He could make some calls and take care of the New York problem in the City if he did this right. He thanked Charlie and went inside to find a phone to arrange a car and then took his life into his own hands: he went to wake Leo. 

***************** 

The sun was a pale yellow in the cloudless sky as Josh sat on the patio at his mother's house. She was listening with rapt attention to his retelling of his late night discussion with Leo. 

"Poor Leo," Anna Lyman wighed as she laughed. 

"Poor Leo?" Josh repeated. "Mom, did you listen to a word I just said? Did you hear what he called me?" 

"I'm certain he's not the first, Joshua," she said calmly taking a seat beside him. "I'm so glad you came. You look tired, though." 

"Please, don't start that," he said. "This is as good as it gets for the foreseeable future, okay?" 

Anna relented and sat quietly for a moment, wondering whether her son was going to be honest with her about the reasons for his spontaneous visit. She was pleased (and astounded) to see him walk in the back door as she poured herself coffee, but she saw more than just a lack of sleep in his eyes. Try as he might, her son could not hide things from her face-to-face. Over the phone or in e-mail, he could fool her, but not face to face. A mother knows when her child is troubled. 

"So tell me," Anna said, placing her hand on his knee and looking deep into his troubled eyes. "What's wrong, Joshua?" 

"Nothing," he said instantly. "Can't I visit without there being something wrong?" 

"You could," she agreed readily. "But that's not the case right now, is it? Don't lie to your mother. The sooner you say what's bothering you, the sooner it will go away. We have so little time together that I'd prefer not to spend most of it convincing you to tell me what you obviously wanted to talk about in the first place." 

Josh sighed and looked at her hand, still adorned with her wedding band. Talking to his father was always easier. Noah Lyman was stoical about trouble, his own and that of others. He dealt with it pragmatically and efficiently. Josh's mother was another story. He could never forget how bitterly his mother wept at his sister's death; he remembered clearly the pain in her eyes when she looked at him, the survivor of the blaze. Part of Josh would always feel he was the cause of that pain. From that moment and throughout his life, placing any burden on his mother made him feel sick. 

Josh would have been surprised to learn his mother knew this. He might have proclaimed his independence from her when he was young child, but nothing he might do could ever sever the bond between mother and child. 

"Joshua, it hurts me to see you like this," she said calculatingly. 

He looked at her and again saw those eyes that were filled with so much pain the night Joanie died. Shades of that time were in her eyes again and again it was directed at him. His throat felt tight as he eventually spoke. 

"I just want to know that I can do this," he said staring at the floor. 

"The campaign?" 

"Yeah," he replied. "It's a lot to take on." 

"You've done it before," she encouragingly. "You don't get intimidated this easily." 

"It was easier last time," he said. "We weren't supposed to win. We were long shots. It's more complicated this time." 

"You take on complicated things every day," his mother said matter-of-factly. 

"Yeah, I'll all have that plus the campaign this time," he said shaking his head with uncertainty. "It's not easy all the time to... I mean, some things are just difficult now because... There's no margin of error this time." 

"When is there ever?" she said comfortingly. 

"I mean absolutely none," he said vehemently. "There's just no room in this campaign for mistakes." 

"Joshua, you're not a mistake," she said firmly. 

He looked away, refusing to meet her eyes, and stared into the splendor of her garden in full bloom. The roses, the ones she griped about so often, sprawled along the stonewall separating the property from that of the neighbor. Josh could picture his father standing there, giving his mother helpful and unwanted advice on what she should do about the temperamental bushes. After a moment of solitude, he could feel his mother's eyes fixed on him. He slowly turned his head to look at her again. 

"You know very well that Leo McGarry is a smart and cagey man," she said. "He wouldn't put you in this position if he didn't think you were the best one for the job. Leo is loyal to his friends, but his goal is to win. He wouldn't keep you there if he didn't think you could do this. So, the question is: Do you think you can?" 

"I guess," he said with a shrug. 

"No, Josh," she said sharply. "None of this 'I guess.' You know it or you don't. You do nothing half way. Your father and I raised you better than that. We don't feel sorry for ourselves in this family; moping doesn't fix anything. Now tell me, what's really the trouble? Do you honestly feel you can't do this? Are you afraid of losing?" 

"Frankly, yes," he said. "That's never any fun." 

"So then don't," she said simply and breaking into a warm smile.   
  
"Don't?" 

"That's right," she said. "Just don't. Don't doubt; don't worry; don't wade in fear, and don't lose." 

He relented a wan grin and shook his head. She beamed back at him; pleased to see her pep talk had been heard and registered. 

"Don't lose? Right, gotcha," he remarked with a smirk. "Anything else?" 

"How about doing something about insurance companies?" she asked. "I'm tired of having to fill out a dozen forms every time I need a new pair of glasses." 

"Why not just ask me to walk on water, too," he said flatly. "I know you think I'm basically perfect, and mostly I am, but no one likes a show-off, Mom." 

"Always my humble boy," she said as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Josh, your father and I should have found some way to instill you with a little more confidence." 

***************** 

Donna sat at the kitchen table alone in the pale morning light. The President and First Lady were on their way to a morning mass; the rest of the staff was apparently enjoying a rare morning of sleeping in. Donna had not been able to sleep. She was nursing a cup of coffee, watching the clock--much as she had been since four a.m. Three and a half hours later, she was surprised Josh was not already down stairs. He was never a late sleeper--he never slept much at all. She was hoping to catch a few minutes with him when the others were not around. She wanted to speak with him alone. 

She had no specific topic for discussion. She just wanted to talk to him. It had been so long since they had done that. True, they spoke every weekday about work related matters, but there were no side chats any longer. He no longer asked her how her weekend went; he no longer asked about what she did when she wasn't at the office; he no longer asked far-reaching favors of her (like being his caddy); he never asked her anything any longer unless it was strictly business related. It was like she had been transported back to the days before their first Democratic primary together--back to when he neither knew her nor trusted her.   
  
"Good morning, Donna," Charlie said as he entered the kitchen. 

"Hi, Charlie," she sighed. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," she said. "I was just waiting to see if... if anyone else was going to wake up." 

"I think they're up," Charlie said. "I heard CJ and Sam discussing Sam's trip to Memphis next week. Toby's on the porch writing something." 

"And Josh?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

"I don't know," Charlie said. "He's not here." 

"What?" 

"He left last night," Charlie explained. "Well, I guess it was about three this morning actually. He went to Connecticut to see his mother." 

"Why?" Donna asked suddenly. "What's wrong?" 

"I don't think anything's wrong," Charlie said. "He and I were talking last night. There was something on his mind, but he didn't really say what it was. Anyway, I asked him if he had seen his mother recently and he hadn't. I think it was spur of the moment that he decided to go. I arranged a car for him and he left. I think he's planning on staying there tonight so he can meet with the people in New York first thing Monday." 

"Oh," Donna said. The disappointment in her voice was equally evident on her face. 

"Is something wrong, Donna?" Charlie asked. 

"No," she sighed. 

"Well, it just seems that you haven't really been yourself lately," he said. "You seem kind of down." 

"No, this is just me," she said. "This is how things are now." 

"Why?" 

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I don't know what changed or why." 

"Maybe nothing changed," he said. "Maybe it only seems like it did." 

"Huh?" 

"I don't know," Charlie offered with a shrug. "It just seems to me that a lot of stuff never really changes, we only think it does. That's why we act differently sometimes. How can you be certain something changed?" 

"It feels like they have," she sighed. "It's just not the same. He... I mean..."   
  
"You're talking about Josh?" 

She shrugged then nodded reluctantly. 

"I don't think anything's changed," Charlie said warmly. "You two still work well together." 

"When we work together," Donna said. "He doesn't need me any more it seems; it makes me wonder if he doesn't want me around. He treats me like his assistant now." 

"You are his assistantm" Charlied pointed out. 

"Yeah, but before, it was more than that," she said. "I felt like... Well, I was his assistant, but he didn't treat me that way. I felt like we were, not equals, but more like partners. I thought at least we were friends. Now, he's always dismissing me. It's like he wants me to go away or that I bother him." 

"That must be hard to take from someone you trust and respect so much," Charlie said. "Have you told him?" 

"Anytime I try to speak to him, he sends me away or he leaves," she said sadly. "He doesn't like me any more. I must ahve messed up something or ssaid something I shouldn't have and now he wants me to go away." 

"For what it's worth, I don't think that's true," Charlie said. "He was really proud of the way you pulled the whole campaign banquet off; I heard him telling Sam so. It's obvious he has a lot of faith in you, Donna." 

"He does?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure," Charlie nodded. "Things aren't always what they seem, Donna. This thing with Josh, it might not be anything you've done. It could be a lot of things, but I'm sure he's not mad at you or sick of you. I just don't see that." 

She smiled and thanked Charlie. She got up from the table, determined not to let the present circumstances sap her spirit or enthusiasm for what lay ahead with the campaign. She didn't know what was going on with Josh, and she didn't know how she could find out, but she was certain he was not being honest with her. Still, Charlie was an impartial third party. Unlike her roommate (who despised Josh on several levels), Charlie knew both she and Josh equally well. If he didn't seen a major rift, maybe he was right. Maybe nothing had really changed it was all in how she was looking at things. 

Donna thought about that as she climbed the stairs, but while it made her feel better, somehow it didn't completely rectify things. Something was different between them. She wasn't sure finding out what that was would be productive, but she also couldn't continue on with things the way they were. She could not continue like this much longer. 


	6. The Tyrant Returns

Body **Title**: ****THE QUEST, Chapter 6   
**Authors**: Westwinger247 and Ellie   
**Posted**: April 15, 2001 

The incessant ringing stirred Donna from a dream-filled sleep. She groggily reached her hand across to her night stand and clumsily lifted the instrument. She could not manage to pry her eye lids open as she tentatively answered. 

"Uh, hello," she said softly, hoping the phonically was just another part of her dream. 

"Where are you?" he asked brusquely without preamble. 

"What?" Donna said, shaking her head to wake herself further. 

Her eyes opened reluctantly and she spied her clock. The numbers in her fuzzy morning vision announced 5:22 a.m. 

"You're in bed," Josh said, sounding shocked. "Half the day is gone, and you're not even awake yet. How am I supposed to run my office and a campaign if my assistant can't even keep regular hours?" 

"Where are you?" she asked, ignoring his tirade. 

_ This must be another dream, _she thought_. Josh doesn't call anymore, for anything, and he certainly does a good impression of not needing my help even when he does._

"I am at my desk," he said. "Before that, I was just at your desk, and guess what?" 

"What?" 

"You weren't there," he said. 

"I'm here," she said as the realization began to dawn that she was in fact awake and the voice blaring into her ear was very real and quite agitated. 

"Yes, we've covered that," he snapped. "Will it take an act of Congress to get you from there to here?" 

"No," she answered. 

"Good," he said tersely and hung up. 

Donna stared at the phone for several more seconds. She blinked several times as she ran through the conversation in her head again. He was back in Washington; he had been at the office for some unspecified period already though it only dawn; he seemed miffed that she was not there as well; he was unapologetic about ordering her (well before her scheduled hours) into the office for some unnamed assignment. 

_ That's my Joshua!_

Her feet hit the floor instantly and carried her into the shower. She rushed through her morning routine and dressed in her pale blue suit, the one Sam said showed off her legs and brought out her eyes. However, she told herself she choice it not for those reasons but because it was a cool, linen-type fabric that would not wrinkle or wilt through a long, humid day and would be comfortable enough to live in for upwards of 20 hours. She downed a glass of orange juice then hurried to her car. 

Traffic was minimal, even with detours for construction, and she made it through through the security desk at just after 6 a.m. The cleaning crew was just finishing its chores as she passed down the still darkened hallways toward the bullpen. Once there, she turned on her computer and walked casually through Josh's door. 

He was seated at his desk intently reading a copy of the New York Times. She stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to keep her expression neutral. 

"Are you staring for a reason or do you just have nothing better to do?" he asked without looking up. 

"And it's nice to see you too, Josh," she said. 

"It's always nice to see me," he said. "Do you know why?" 

"I'm sure you'll tell me." 

"Because if you're there and I'm here then both of us are still employed," he said with a smirk as he finally looked up from his reading. "You're late." 

"You're early," she corrected him. "You were supposed to be flying in on the 8 a.m. today." 

"I flew in on the 11 o'clock shuttle last night," he said. "You should thank me for not calling sooner." 

"I don't think I should," she said. 

"So what are you doing?" he asked. 

"Waiting to see what was so important that you couldn't wait until sunrise for my help," she replied. 

"Look at your desk," he said, pointing out the door. 

She returned to her desk and noticed a stack of folders that were not there the night before. The contents ranged from crime statistics involving legally purchased hand guns to health care costs associated with second hand smoke. There were a dozen in all--each containing drafts of legislation, newspaper articles and excerpts of congressional testimony transcripts. 

She turned around to see Josh standing in his doorway. He gestured to the folders and casually informed her that he needed full run downs on each topic, complete with rebuttal notes on the oppositions point of view. 

"When?" 

"Oh, not today," he said easily. "Come on, it's a Friday. I wouldn't do that to you." 

"You have before," she reminded him. 

"Well, that was different," he said. "This is a comprehensive project. Everything else takes a back seat, unless I tell you differently. I need to be prepped for a panel discussion on all of those." 

"Full reports, bullet points and then be able to reduce each one to a handful of index cards," she surmised. "Salient points only?" 

"No, full spectrum," he said. "It's scheduled for three hours and even though it's just for Georgetown, it's our first venue to land a few punches." 

"You expecting a full media press on this?" 

"Let's just say it's going to get the ball rolling for the president's next two outings and those will have full media coverage," he said. "And if it happens to put some heat on the Republican challengers to declare some early positions and alliances, so much the better. The quicker we can put each of these guys in the box, the easier things will be for us after next July." 

"Why?" she asked as she began making notes on what he wanted. "What's in July?" 

"Miami," he said. "The convention. Any of this sound familiar?" 

"Oh, right," she yawned. 

"Curb your enthusiasm," he said. "The primaries are nothing to us this time around, Donna. The President is the Democratic nominee. We start our race to win this place back right now. While the Republicans are squabbling amongst themselves, berating each other and ripping each other apart, we're going to be shoring up the support we know we have, trying to win back the votes we lost after the President's thing was revealed, and fighting like hell for votes we never had to begin with." 

"All this is going to happen because you and three others are going to sit on a stage at a college in front of 100 students and disagree with each other?" 

"That's the nutshell version," he nodded. 

"Right," she said. "And how many weeks away is this?" 

"It's next Wednesday," he said. 

"What!" 

"Wednesday evening," he said easily. "See, no need to panic." 

"Josh!" she huffed. "That's five days from now." 

"Actually, it's four days if you don't count today," he said. "And, you probably can't because I'm about to give you something to do that's going to take precedent over the assignment I just gave you." 

She sat in her chair and sighed. _Yes_, she told herself, _the slave driver had returned_. 

***************** 

Sam strolled into the west wing, quietly humming, at just past 6:45 am. The retreat to Manchester the previous week had done wonders for him, physically and emotionally. Though it was Friday again, he wasn't counting the hours until the end of his day. He was ready to take on the challenges that were scheduled for the weekend. His first major task was to prepare the basics for the President's upcoming education speech at William & Mary University. The only thing Sam needed to wait on was the exact specifications that the President wanted to use. That responsibility landed squarely on Josh's shoulders. Josh said that he would get right on it as soon as he returned from New York. And by their last communication, Josh would saunter in at 8:30. 

Sam turned the corner, and in his illustrious mood, didn't even notice that Donna passed right by him. 

"Good morning, Samuel," Donna said in a chipper voice. 

"Hey, Donna," Sam replied. "Donna?" 

Donna stopped and turned around. 

"Yes?" 

Sam looked at his watch, then at Donna, then back at his watch, then back at Donna. 

"It's 6:45 in the morning," he said. "What are you doing here so early?" 

"Josh called me at about 5:30," she said. "Well, I wouldn't really classify it as a call. It was more like a reprimand as to why I wasn't at my desk." 

"Wait a minute," Sam said, his happy mood fading fast. "Josh called you from New York at dawn to tell you to come into the office?" 

"No, he called from this office and bellowed for me to come in to get here," she informed him. "He didn't site specific consequences, but he did mention something about an act of Congress." 

"Josh's back?" Sam inquired. 

"In more ways than one." 

"And he called you?" 

"That would be a yes," Donna replied. 

"Now why would he go and do a thing like that?" 

"Sam," Donna sighed, feeling slightly irritated by this mini-inquisition. "The last time I checked, I was his assistant." 

"I never denied that," he said defensively. "I'm just saying, that lately…" 

"Listen, Sam," Donna said as she cut him off mid-sentence. "I've gotta run these papers down to Ainsley to look over, and then I've got to get back to the bullpen before he starts thinking out loud again and there's no one there to hear it. I'll catch you later." 

Donna turned away from Sam and resumed her trek to Ainsley's office. 

Sam stood there for several seconds, stunned. 

"Not yet, Josh," he murmured aloud to himself. "Please, we haven't even begun to fight. Don't break now." 

******** 

CJ sat at her desk, busily typing an email to her father. Her head was bopping in rhythm to the music coming from her headphones. The current song ended and the next one caused CJ to sing along. 

"Sugar… ah honey, honey. You are my candy girl and you got me wanting you…" 

Hearing the cacophony, Toby approached her door and knocked. When she did not turn around, he walked to the side of her desk and rubbed his forehead. 

"Like the summer sunshine, pour your sweetness over me…" she sang as she finally turned to see Toby, who was making a rather unusual face. 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" he yelled. 

CJ stopped the CD and removed her headphones. 

"I'm solving the Unified Theory," she quipped. "I'm listening to music. It's late and I need something to keep me focused while I wait for Josh and Leo to finish with the President." 

"What song were you butchering?" Toby asked. 

"_Sugar, Sugar_ by _The Archies_," she informed him. 

"I thought that that was just a comic book." 

"No, my friend. They also had this hit song. I'll have you know that _The Archies_ are cool. Better than some of the garbage that's on the radio right now." 

"Okay." 

"What do you want?" CJ asked, perturbed at being interrupted during the song. 

"Tomorrow, I want you to brief on the CDC's latest findings." 

"What did they find?" 

"During the 90s, gun deaths in the United States dropped more than twenty-five percent. It's the lowest since 1966. Analysts credit stricter sentencing, new laws making it more difficult for these yahoos to get firearms, the diminishing crack trade and low unemployment, thanks to our booming economy." 

"Give me numbers, Toby," CJ said grabbing a pencil. 

"There were 30,708 gun-related deaths, which is 11.4 per 100,000 people. That's down 26 percent from 1993, when the toll was 15.4 deaths per 100,000." 

"Got it," she said finishing the last line. "Want me to make it priority?" 

"Of course," Toby said. "We want to get this out as soon as possible. This gun control is going to be big and if we want to have any hope of winning the south, we need to show people how good the President's gun control laws are and how bettering them will drop that number even more." 

"And the sooner we pat ourselves on the back, the more the Republicans will have to scramble to counter. And it will just make them look bad, considering what we've had to endure," CJ surmised. 

"I knew that there was a brain hidden underneath all that copper hair." 

"Hey, what was Sam's thing today?" 

"Which thing?" Toby sighed. "Sam has lots of things." 

"I've noticed," CJ said. "This was... I don't know. He was mumbling to himself all day and he was kind of snippy with Josh after the staff meeting." 

"Did Josh say anything to you?" Toby asked. He had missed any indications of ill undercurrents after the meeting. 

"Josh?" CJ laughed. "Yeah, he wouldn't notice it Sam lit his head on fire and went screaming through the halls." 

"He might if it would lock in a few electoral votes," Toby observed. "So would I for that matter." 

"My point exactly," CJ said. "Sam and Josh are frick and frack. The same things usually key up their radar. So it just seemed kind of hinky that Sam had his boxers in a bunch and Josh was in his normal oblivious orbit. Any idea what's going on?" 

"Separation anxiety," Toby ventured. "I heard Josh called Donna right after he got back; maybe Sam's jealous." 

"Okay, remind me never to have conversations like this with you again," CJ said, returning to her headphones. 

"Gladly," Toby sighed as he turned to leave. 

CJ returned to her e-mail and pressed the play button. 

"Sing me, sing me, sing me… sing me, sing me, baby… OOOOOOH." 

Toby rolled his eyes and fled out of CJ's office, trying to escape. 

"Why can't she just lip-sync?" he muttered. "She's so much better at that… I need an aspirin." 

******** 

Donna sat at her desk, trying to sort through the mountain of folders that Josh placed there earlier. Josh had just returned from meeting with Leo, after an hour long discussion with the President on the defection and re-unification of the New York delegation Josh had dealt with when he left Manchester. Upon his return, he gave Donna new orders to delay her research and comb through the mountain of files to find something in the folders to use for a meeting with the NEA on Monday. Donna took the order in stride, biting back a comment about slave labor because, though she was tired, she was also pleased. Josh the Terrible (as her roommate called him) was a Josh she could understand. The creature who had taken over Josh's corporeal form for the first half of the summer was a disturbing mix of fairness and consideration. The clone, as she had begun to think of him, was simply not the Josh Lyman she knew. 

She continued her search for the data he requested. Her search was proving fruitless though. After 20 folders and enough skimming to make her head spin, nothing caught her eye. 

Except the mountain of paper on her desk tilting precariously to the left. As she steadied the pile, Donna yawned at checked her watch. It was officially Saturday. Actually, it had been Saturday for two and a half hours, but that was the first time she had noticed. 

As she finished shoring up the leaning tower of political fodder on her desk again, Josh arrived and haphazardly tossed several more files on the stack. 

"More?" Donna questioned. 

"Got a problem with that?" 

"No." 

"Good," Josh replied then headed towards his dimly lit office. 

Donna sighed. Her desk was in shambles. Besides the telephone and computer, nothing else was visible. She knew underneath the ocean of documents were the actual desk top and the highlighters and index cards she needed. The question was: How to get to them without toppling the whole mess onto her floor? She knew if that happened, her work area would be as bad a condition as Josh's. 

Then an idea hit her. 

She gathered as many folders in her arms and made a beeline towards Josh's office. 

Donna entered the office and dropped the folders on the floor. 

The sudden bang caused Josh to jump. He frantically looked around and stared at her with a shocked expression that faded as quickly as it appeared. She was too busy to notice as she turned on her heel and departed to retrieve the next load. As she disappeared through the door, he unconsciously placed his hand over the scar on his chest. When he caught realized what he had done, he placed his hands flat on his desk and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

Donna returned with another stack and dropped them beside the first. 

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded. 

"I'm spreading out," she responded, leaving the office to grab more folders. 

"You're what?" he yelled. 

"You heard me," Donna replied. "You've given me a task to accomplish and since there is no room to spread out at my desk, I thought that your floor would serve as a suitable substitute." 

She came in with the final group and plopped them beside the other two. Donna then proceeded to turn on the two lamps near her, sit on the floor and open a folder. 

"Donna," Josh said, squinting at the excess light in his office. "What time is it?" 

"You've got a watch, look at it." 

"You know that my watch…" 

"Sucks," she finished. "Yes, I keep telling you to buy a new one." 

"But I like this one…" he said. 

"Then quit asking me what time it is. Just add fifteen minutes to whatever time it says on that piece-of-crap thing you call a watch." 

Josh shook his head, then look at his watch. He carefully added fifteen minutes. Josh surmised the time to be 2:50 am. 

"Okay," Josh said softly. "It's almost 3 am. We'll pick this up later this morning." 

"When?" 

"You can sleep in," he said. "Be back in three hours." 

"Better rein in your generosity, Josh," Donna said. "People will start rumors that you've gone soft on me." 

"Hey, if you're not up to the task say so," he said. "I'll find someone who is." 

"Well, it's just that I haven't worked weekends in quite some time." 

"Yeah, well playtime's over." 

"Okay," she smiled as she stood. "No more Mr. Nice Josh. Got it."   
  
"You all right getting home?" Josh asked. 

"Yeah," Donna said, her smile growing into a grin. 

"Be here at 6 sharp," he commanded. "Don't make me have the President call out the National Guard." 

"Right. Six am it is." 

Donna exited his office and walked over to her desk to get her purse. Her walk soon turned into a full out sprint to the parking lot. She wanted to get home and get in a suitable nap before returning. Josh was indeed back and she didn't want to miss it. 


	7. Faces From The Past

qchap7 **Title**: **THE QUEST, __Chapter Seven**   
**Authors**: _Westwinger247 and Ellie_   
**Posted**: May 6, 2001 

Donna stood in the wings of the stage as the debate raged into its final minutes. She kept her expression neutral with great effort, but she was mentally keeping score. Short of suddenly forfeiting out of compassion, Josh (and by extension, the Bartlet Administration) were skunking the competition tonight. 

Josh had torn apart his three fellow panelists from word one. It was not a loud, roaring battle but a series of surgically precise strikes that cut his opponents' knees out from under them swiftly and decisively on nearly every issue on the board. Despite his strong showing, Donna had remained nervous throughout the three hours. Settings like this were tempting invitations for Josh to be... well, Josh; it was not out of the realm of possibility that he would turn his strategic weapons (his mouth and mind) on himself. 

But not tonight, Donna sighed with relief as the moderator called the proceedings to a close amidst the applause from the audience. 

She was impressed by the way Josh wove her research and notes into the administration's policies and positions into a tight rope that each of his opponents, one after the other, unwittingly slipped over their own necks--mistaking the traps for loopholes until it was too late and the noose was cinched tight around them. Which is not to say he was being a blustering, political mercenary the entire time. The fabled Lyman mystique, that at-times abrasive wit that drew scores of co-eds to stare in rapt attention and to giggle mindlessly at his from-the-hip quips, made an appearance as well. Donna never ceased to be amazed at how his sarcasm, when directed at others, came off as charming. 

As the moderator finished his profuse thanks to the participants, his words were drown as the audience flooded the stage to speak with the various panel members. Donna waded through this sea holding Josh's backpack and his car keys. She edged her way to his side and waited patiently as he signed autographs the way movie stars did. 

"You're just so... excellent," said one red-headed student as she handed him a recent issue of Time Magazine bearing his image on the cover. "My roommate is gonna die when she sees this." 

"So long as I'm not named as an accessory," Josh quipped with a quick grin as he scrawled his name then handed back the magazine. 

The student blushed deeply then hugged the pages to her chest and drifted back into the crowd. Donna had seen the reaction many times before and was still amazed how seemingly intelligent women could turn into knock-kneed, blushing teenagers in close proximity to Josh. The only thing harder to swallow for Donna was, naturally, the effect this had on Josh. The ego might be big enough to merit its own zip code after a night like this. 

"Who does your research for you?" Donna asked, pulling his attention away from another admirer. 

"Somebody who doesn't value her job as much as she should," he replied sporting a smirk that only she knew was a measure of thanks. 

"We should leave before your ego doesn't fit in the car," Donna said handing him his backpack. 

"I have no doubt you'd find a way to fix that," he said following close on her heels as they departed the stage. "I was good tonight, though." 

"You did well," she said as they traversed a descended a back stairwell. "Of course, I did most of the work." 

"You looked up some details and complied numbers," he said. "That was invaluable. I, however, knew how to use them." 

"You're just no good at sharing," she informed him as they reached the ground level. 

"You're right," he agreed. "I'm not. So it should come as no surprise that I won't be buying you dinner." 

"Why was I here tonight?" she asked and stopped walking. 

He walked a few steps beyond then turned back to face her. He grinned and shrugged. 

"I thought you might like to see all your hard work put to good use," he replied. 

"You're pathetic, you do realize that," she remarked. 

"Actually, I'm quite impressive," he said. 

As he spoke, an the sign on a door across the hall caught her eye. She read it twice then grabbed Josh's arm as she started toward the door. 

"I don't believe it!" she said. 

"What?" he asked stumbling after her. 

"She's here," Donna said, pointing at the sign. "She's speaking right now. Oh, you owe me this, Josh. Just 10 minutes." 

He read the sign announcing author SJ Rixon--a guest lecturer at the University for a semester--was giving a reading and discussion on one of her novels that evening. Josh shook his head. Before he could speak, Donna opened the door to the lecture hall and dragged him with her. 

They took seats in the back. The reading was over and a Q & A with the audience was in progress. Donna shoved Josh into a seat and blocked his path should he try and exit. He merely folded his arms and shook his head again. Meanwhile, Donna focused on SJ Rixon, the petite blond sitting on a table at the front of the room as she took questions. 

She was slight of frame but even from a distance Donna knew the light in her dusty blue eyes was a warning that this was a woman to be reckoned with. 

"I recently read a short story you wrote a few years ago," a man in the crowd was saying. "It was being reprinted I guess because now you're..." 

"Somebody worth reading," the writer said filling in the embarrassing gap. 

"I guess," the man said blushing dangerously red. "I was wondering what changed. I mean, that story was drastically different from your books." 

"By that you mean it was dark and disturbing," she said. "Yeah, for those of you who have no clue what piece he is referring to, there's a good reason. No one else ever read it. It was a short story called 'The After Midnight Karma Club.' It was my first stab at profitable writing. It failed miserably, by the way, both critically and financially." 

"I liked it, though," the man remarked. "But it's not like what you write now. Something was missing. The..." 

"Funny?" she said finishing his sentence as her focused on the back of the room as though she was looking into the past. 

"Yeah, there's nothing entertaining about story and there wasn't supposed to be," Rixon continued. "I wrote it about a... good friend and myself. We met in college. He was an amazingly arrogant suitor who I worshiped, but I never told him that. I named his character Aaron--Aaron the amazingly arrogant ass, in the first draft. Gist of the story is this: two college kids sit on a roof at night and muse about the rotten breaks life has tossed at them without realizing they're talking about how horrible their lives are because neither of them think their individual tragedies are as awful as they really are. Wow! That's a mouthful. Okay, now the truth behind the story: We were both night owls, and we'd sit on the roof of my dorm in the wee hours, just talking and generally feeling like the king and queen of the universe until sunrise. He was, and still is, the most fascinating man I've ever known, but not for what everyone else sees when they meet him; it's for what almost no one else sees--a tender soul filled with so much angst and passion you could drown in it. Plus he's got a cute ass and this killer grin. Well now, it's getting a little warm in here. One more question, and we'll wrap this up. I'm getting bored being the one talking." 

She pointed into the crowd at an upraised hand, like aiming a pistol, making contact with such definite precision that all hands but the one chosen dropped immediately. 

"You just said you based that character on someone you knew," the woman in the fifth row said. "Do you base all of your characters on people you know? What makes a person worthy of becoming..." 

"Immortalized in fiction?" the lecturer asked. 

"By the scintillating works of S.J. Rixon, precisely," the woman followed up quickly. 

"Scintillating? Well, sucking up is a good step," SJ said, pulling a pen from behind her ear. "Spell your name for me." 

Laughter rippled through the room. Donna joined in and turned her head to see if Josh was at least listening. Unless it was a political speech, election returns or some fancied sports event, his attention span was about as long as his patience. However, she was surprised to see him staring forward with rapt attention. 

"Everyone is worthy," SJ continued. "Oldest adage about writing: write what you know. I know people. I know them because I listen. Never forget that people are the X-factor in every equation. You need to listen to them and to hear them as well--if nothing else, you might buy yourself some karma. I learned that sitting in the dark on the roof of a dorm next to a prince of darkness with killer dimples. Okay, that's really enough punishment for one night. Thanks again." 

Applause broke out in the room as sponsor read a litany of supporters who made the evening possible and thanked the guest speaker profusely. She nodded as she gathered her notes. When the crowd began to break up, several members of the audience approached with copies of her books for signing. 

"Oh, I wish we could have gotten here sooner," Donna said as she prepared to leave. "I really love her writing." 

"You read her stuff?" 

"Everything she's published," Donna said. "Her last one, Friends of the Program, is about people in Washington. Josh you should read it. I swear she knows all of us; I mean, not just us in the west wing, but everyone we deal with. It's almost scary. The way she writes is simple, but the stories are so intricate. You can tell she's very complex." 

"She's a lunatic with a twisted sense of humor," Josh said with a grin. 

"She's brilliant," Donna countered. 

"She is not," he disagreed. 

"Have you even read one of her books?" 

"No," he said. 

"Then how do you know she's not brilliant?" 

"She's got a photographic memory and a sharp tongue," Josh said. "That doesn't mean she's brilliant--and she lies when she says her IQ is 177." 

"How do you know any of that?" Donna asked. "Do you know her?" 

Instead of answering, Josh started toward the stage without further word. Donna followed, curious. Though he had done a fair job of saying he was unimpressed with this writer, Donna also heard admiration and perhaps something deeper in his responses. 

Donna stood at Josh's side at the edge of the group surrounding SJ as she signed several more books. The onlookers were still peppering her with questions. 

"I really liked what you said about both listening to people and hearing them," one young man remarked. "I wish the folks down the road would do that." 

"Who would that be?" she asked handing him back his book. 

As she did so, her eyes fell on the two newcomers to the group. She fixed her gaze on Josh. The slightest hints of a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

"Congress and the White House," the student continued. "I'd guess from what you've said and what you write that you can't stand politics." 

"On the contrary," she said not shifting her gaze a millimeter. "I fell in love with politics in college. If you don't believe me, turn around and ask my poli-sci tutor." 

The student turned and stared for a moment. His face then blanched with recognition. 

"It wasn't the politics that you loved," Josh said confidently. 

"You're right, it wasn't," SJ replied warmly. 

Donna's chin dropped slightly as she watched the lingering gaze between the two. Josh offered her that sly smile, the one Mandy used to bring out in him on occasion. Suddenly, Donna felt awkward and out of place. She made a move to step away when SJ turned her sights to the left. 

"You would be Donna Moss," SJ said firmly. "Sammie says your Joshua's shadow and do a fair job of keeping him in line. I expect you and I could have quite an interesting, provocative conversation." 

"But you won't," Josh said. "I'm sure you're too busy." 

"I am, but we will," SJ countered. 

"Donna, keep in mind that this woman lies profusely," Josh said. "That's why she writes fiction--she has no concept of truth or reality." 

"Two words for you, Lyman," SJ said. "Naked breakfast." 

"Three words for you," he countered. "Ripped Blue Thing." 

"I see," SJ said nodding. "I believe we are at an impasse." 

"The proper term is detante." 

***************** The week passed into oblivion and Josh's forecast of the obscure panel discussion calling out Republican challengers came to fruition. While the leading contenders for the GOP nomination were not exactly taking up the positions the Josh, Toby and Sam had predicted, the final analysis was that it was close enough to put a notch in the Bartlet column. It was their first win on the road back to the White House. That it barely mattered in the larger picture did not go unnoted, but that hardly seemed to matter to Josh's ego. 

A win is a win and must be flaunted to death in front of your assistant appeared to be his motto. Donna was thankful when each Friday rolled around again. She was weary from the 107 new tasks Josh seemed to drop in her lap daily, but she was getting her groove back as August disappeared into September and the fading rays of summer gave way to a stiffer breeze that announced October was just around the corner. 

It was on a still-sultry Thursday afternoon early in autumn that a package was dropped on Donna's desk emblazoned with the insignia of the Baltimore Orioles and Josh's name. The size and weight of the package hinted a video tape was enclosed. Strangely, there were no stamps showing where the package originated. She thought that odd, but dismissed it as inter-office mail. On the back side was the bold announcement: Open Immediately. 

Following the order dutifully, Donna carried the package into Josh's office. 

"Josh, a package was just delivered to your office, " Donna said. 

He was seated at his desk going over memos and polling numbers arise from the latest round of legal wild fires still burning from the President's shocking health announcement the previous spring. From Josh's weary look, Donna knew he would welcome the distraction. 

"Donna," Josh sighed as he dropped his sheaf of papers on his desk. "What is that? 

"Don't know," she said handing it to him. "Came for you." 

"Does it contain any of your personal apparel again?" 

"It's something from the Baltimore Orioles," Donna said. 

"So I'll ask again..." 

"Obnoxious hour isn't until 4 p.m.," Donna informed him. "Burt for the record, I've never been to an Orioles game, and don't know anyone with the organization. Do you?" 

"I don't know half the people I know," Josh said with an exasperated sigh. "Probably some ploy to get the President to do something for next year." 

Josh reached for the envelope. He opened the padded package, revealing a videocassette tape. On the tape was a note. Josh read the note and a small grin appeared. Donna noticed the grin and was curious as to what the note said to make Josh smile. She hadn't seen a smile like that on him since the lecture at Georgetown during the summer. 

Donna started to reach for the tape, but Josh quickly maneuvered over to the VCR, anxious to put the tape in. He pressed the play button and nervously tapped his foot, wishing the tape to speed up. The tape finally began and Josh pulled a chair over, sitting down. Donna stood behind Josh. 

On the tape was what looked to be like a press conference. An older man was at the podium announcing the hiring of a new general manager. Donna leaned forward to gage Josh's reaction, but she noticed that his gaze wasn't on the gentleman, but rather on the petite woman to his right. The woman was dressed in a simple, yet powerful black suit. Her short, brown hair was styled ever so professional and her glasses impeccably clean. She looked all business. Finally, the gentleman left the podium and the woman stepped up. Josh turned up the volume. 

"Thank you, Mr. Angelos," she said. "Like he said, my name is Marilyn Rogers and I am extremely excited and proud to be the first female general manager of a Major League baseball team. Like every professional baseball player, I, too, worked my way up through the minor leagues. I know the ins and outs running a baseball team. I've done everything from sell food, to work the PA, to even pulling tarp when it rains. " 

"Ms. Rogers, how will you change the Orioles during your reign as GM?" a reporter asked. 

"Well, let me say this. While nothing pleases me more than watching baseball…" 

"I know something that did," Josh commented. 

"This game is still a business. I have given this team a three-year time frame to turning itself around. I have put out a notice. The Baltimore Orioles will no longer be the red-headed stepchildren to the New York Yankees." 

"Boy, hope Toby didn't hear that," Donna said. 

"Shh," Josh said hotly. "I'm trying to watch this." 

"Ms. Rogers," a second reporter spoke. "What are you plans if the team doesn't succeed? Will the elder players be shipped out, to make room for the upstarts?" 

"If it comes down to it, yes," the woman answered frankly. "Hopefully, this will make the veterans step it up a notch to show the minor leaguers just how the big boys play. And they will provide leadership to the rookies and we will have a team, not individuals. I see one individual; he has to answer to me. Thank you all for coming and we will see you hear on Opening Day, 2002." 

Josh stopped the tape. "She actually did it." 

"Who did what?" Donna questioned. 

"Marilyn," Josh said gesturing to the blank screen. "She said she would be the first woman to lead a Major League baseball team, and damn if she didn't do it." 

"Wait a minute," Donna said skeptically. "You know her?" 

"I did," Josh said softly as he got up from the chair. "Marilyn worked the Hill with me and Sam briefly." 

"I don't get it," Donna stated. "How was that? I thought she said that she worked in baseball all her life." 

Before Josh could answer, Sam came barreling into the office. 

"Josh!" He said excitedly. "Did you see who the new GM of the Orioles is?" 

"Yeah, I just saw a tape of the press conference," he said. "Was it just announced today?" 

"Yeah, this morning," Sam grinned. "About that, Josh..." 

"So I assume Marilyn sent the tape," Josh interrupted. Donna could hear both admiration and something more intimate in his voice. "Why did I ever doubt her?" 

"Excuse me," Donna said, raising her hand. "But could someone please fill me in?" 

"I'd be happy to," came a soft southern voice from behind Donna and Sam. "How's life, Yankee boy?" 

Donna and Sam turned around to see Marilyn standing in the doorway. She was no longer in her power suit, but dressed in form fitting jeans and an Orioles golf shirt. Without even waiting for a response, Marilyn breezed past Donna and Sam, making a beeline toward Josh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Donna let out a gasp. 

"Oops, forgot there were others," Marilyn whispered, breaking the kiss. 

"What?" Josh remarked stupefied as he shook his head. 

"Sam didn't tell you I was here, huh?" Marilyn said as she backed away then smoothed out her shirt. 

"What makes you say that?" Josh replied with a vacant stare. 

"Close your mouth, Josh, you look stupid like that," she said as she turned toward Donna and offered a firm handshake. "And you must be Donna Moss. Sam told me all about you." 

"He did?" Donna remarked. "What did he say?" 

"That you're Josh's right hand man--or woman--I should say," Marilyn grinned. "We really should get together sometime and talk about Mr. Lyman." 

"You really don't," Josh interjected. "Besides, don't you have a baseball team or something to run now, Rebel Girl?" 

"Don't you have bridges to burn?" Marilyn shot back. 

Donna noticed Josh turning several shades of red. 

"None would be as fun as you," Josh said. 

Marilyn flashed a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. 

"Listen, I had official business here," Marilyn continued. "I came to extend the official invitation for the President to throw out the first pitch next season. The President and the entire staff are invited as my special guests." 

"I think it's safe to say that the President will be delighted," Sam said. 

"And even if he's not, we'll see to it," Josh said confidently. 

"We will?" Sam said and caught a stabbing glare from Josh. "Oh, right. Yeah, we will." 

"Great. I'll pencil you guys in," Marilyn said, turning towards the door. She began to leave but stopped next to Donna. She leaned over and whispered. "We'll definitely get together and have a pow-wow. I'll call you." 

And with that, Marilyn walked out of Josh's office and disappeared around the corner. Donna watched as Josh's gaze lingered in that direction and a wistful look hung on his face that slowly melted into a grin. 


	8. Friends And Lovers

qchap8 **Title**: **THE QUEST**, **_Chapter Eight_**   
**Authors**: _Ellie_ and _Westwinger247_   
**Posted**: May 6, 2001 

It was a balmy, early autumn afternoon. The heat of the summer was fading and mild fall breezes were playing hide and seek through the streets and alleys of Baltimore. SJ had made the drive from Georgetown in her new red convertible unannounced. She had seen the press conference the day before and felt the only appropriate way to congratulate her friend on such a stunning promotion was to do so spontaneously. 

Inside the nerve center of the stadium, the new GM was looking over financial projections that were nearly as depressing as the previous season's record, but she did not despair. She was a woman with a plan, and action was her middle name--at least it would be if Sam Seaborn ever filed the proper papers with the court for her. 

Her pondering came to an abrupt halt with a message from her secretary. 

"Ms. Rogers," came a voice over the speakerphone, "a Ms. Rixon is here to see you." 

"Thanks, Lisa, send her in." Marilyn replied. 

The door to the office opened and SJ Rixon walked in. She was dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt emblazoned with the   
words FBI SWAT -- a stark contrast to Marilyn's navy suit. 

"SJ!" Marilyn said smiling. "Nice shirt. Making friends again?" 

SJ smirked as she replied: "Congratulations on the new job." 

"Thanks, same to you on the new book," Marilyn said. "If I ever get bored, I might even read it." 

"Don't over due it on my account." 

"Hey, come here," Marilyn said gesturing widely to the bank of windows behind her desk. "I've finally got a great view." 

The two ladies walked over the large windows that overlooked the field at Camden Yards. Although the season ended a month ago, one lonely groundskeeper tended to the field as is the norm during the off season. 

"So… '_Redheaded stepchildren_'?" SJ asked. 

"Yes," Marilyn said chuckling. "Hey, I have to look after my guys. Look at it this way, you'll get terrific seats when the Yankees come to town." 

"Hey, speaking of damn Yankees," SJ began. "You saw him." 

"You heard?" 

"I called Sam to check a detail on something I was writing," SJ said. "He mentioned you visited Mr. Lyman." 

"Yeah," Marilyn nodded slowly. "You know, he looks really good, considering what he went through last year. God he scared me." 

"Yeah, I remember," SJ said, dropping into the chair opposite the desk. 

It was Marilyn who had called her with the news. SJ was in England at the time for a promotional tour of her book. The tone in Marilyn's voice alone nearly sent her racing for the airport; Marilyn herself was sitting in front of her TV, literally gripping the arms of the chair to keep herself from charging out the door and jumping in her car to race to Washington. She called SJ as soon as she had the wherewithal to dial. SJ then sat vigil by her phone for the next 24 hours until Marilyn called again with the much-prayed for update that Josh was expected to make a full recovery. 

"So, Josh was at your lecture?" Marilyn remarked. SJ gave her an arched-eye brow assessment. "I talked to Sam, too. I thought the only things Joshua ever read were briefing memos and policy manuals." 

"There are moments when I wondered if he could read at all," SJ answered. "I don't think he came willingly, though. His shadow, Ms. Donna Moss, appeared to be the one behind the appearance." 

"Doesn't surprise me one bit," Marilyn said making her way back to her desk. "Speaking of Ms. Moss, what's your take on her?" 

"Well," SJ said, striking a thoughtful pose as she rested her chin on her fist, "she has to be one very patient person to put up with him. We both know how little patience he has himself. Plus, she obviously pulls her own weight, if not that of two people. She'd have to or Josh wouldn't have her working for him. I even heard that she was partially, if not majorly, responsible for ending the Stackhouse filibuster last spring." 

"Ha! How about that?" Marilyn remarked. 

"Okay, you're looking very pleased," SJ said. "So, fess up." 

"Oh, no big deal, really," Marilyn said nonchalantly. "I sent him over a copy of the press conference. I called Sam about it,   
and he said I should come down, so he cleared me to enter the west wing. Amazing how Sam didn't spill the beans that I was coming. Then… I said hello." 

"You mean you planted one on him," SJ said interpreted. "Sam mentioned it was a full contact chat." 

"Rendered him speechless, even if it was for only thirty seconds," Marilyn grinned. "Donna was taken a little aback, though." 

"Yeah, she seemed a little timid to me," SJ said. 

"Did you and Josh go at it like usual?" 

"We might have bandied a few words," SJ said with a devious grin. 

"You mentioned naked breakfast?" Marilyn surmised. 

"Ah, a photographic memory is a beautiful thing," SJ sighed. "Poor Donna. She had no idea what was going on." 

"Tell me about it," Marilyn said nodding. "Of course, you know what this means? This woman has been initiated, and she   
doesn't even know it. I think we should take Ms. Donna Moss out for dinner and drinks so we can school her on the ins and outs of Joshua Lyman." 

"To what end?" 

"Add that little bit of playful hell to his life that he's been lacking since we both left him," Marilyn answered frankly. 

"Great minds, my friend," SJ agreed. "I love it when we're on the same page." 

"Well then, what better time to arrange it than now?" Marilyn said as tapped her intercom and raised her secretary. "Lisa, could you please contact a woman named Donna Moss? She works in the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House. Thanks." 

She turned back to SJ sporting an ear-to-ear grin. 

"There ought to be a law against having this kind of fun," Marilyn said. 

"Don't say it too loudly or he'll write one," SJ remarked. 

"By the way, speaking of writing…" Marilyn said. 

"Yes?" 

"Would you sign this?" Marilyn asked, drawing a copy of SJ's latest endeavor off a bookshelf behind her desk. "I heard they want to make it a movie. That true?" 

"Hell if I know," SJ said, chuckling. "I just sign my name where the lawyers tell me. Now, let's see. A proper inscription for a fellow survivor of the Lyman Labyrinth... Hmm.... How 'bout this: To my cohort in the 'Lyman Lost.' All the Best and good riddence--SJ." 

"It's hard to believe you've never worked for Hallmark," Marilyn quipped as she returned the book to the shelf. 

Marilyn's phone buzzed. She pressed the speakerphone button. 

"Yes Lisa?" 

"Ma'm, Donna Moss is holding on line two," came the reply. 

"Thank you," Marilyn said, turning to SJ. "Play ball." 

***************** 

Tuesday evening arrived quicker than Donna expected. She was busy researching funding related to genetic mapping research for Josh and Toby. She lost all track of time. She was in Toby's office when Ginger interrupted to inform her that the security desk had called. They were escorting her guests as arranged to her desk. 

"My guests?" Donna replied. Then realized what it meant. "Oh God! That's today, isn't it? I forgot!" 

"Forgot what?" Toby asked looking up from his laptop screen. 

"That we're going out tonight," Donna said, gathering her notes. 

"We're not going anywhere," Toby said. 

"Not us, me," Donna replied. "Oh God! I forgot to tell Josh!" 

"You're going out with Josh but you forgot to tell him?" 

"No, with his girlfriends," Donna said hurriedly. 

She rushed from the room, leaving Toby hanging with only half the information he had requested. He grabbed a ball out of his bottom drawer. 

"Well, that makes perfect sense," he said as he heaved it expertly at the wall 

***************** 

Josh breezed down the hall toward his office, Donna's name on the tip of his tongue as he prepared to yell for her to join him. However, he nearly choked as he turned the corner and looked at her desk. Two very familiar and very much out of place   
faces stared back at him, grinning knowingly. 

"See, Mary," SJ said. "The man just can't live without us. We're in the building 30 seconds and he's rushing to see us." 

"Why are you both here... together?" Josh asked, a cast of concern in his eyes. 

"You sound nervous there, Yankee," Marilyn said with a bold grin. 

"I'm not nervous," he said confidently. "I'm curious." 

"He's scared," Marilyn proclaimed. 

"I'm not." 

"You should be," Marilyn taunted, the grin deepening. 

"Mary's right--a little healthy fear is a good thing," SJ added, throwing him a wink. "We're waiting for Donna." 

"Okay, now I'm mildly concerned," he said. "Why?" 

"We're taking her out," SJ said. "As successful women, we feel it is our duty to serve as examples to others, act as mentors, educate, give helpful advice." 

"See, that fiction thing is right up your alley," Josh replied. 

Donna arrived, surprised to see the gathering at her desk. She was surprised to find her two dinner companions at her desk   
flanking Josh. The looks on the three faces (Marilyn excited; SJ intrigued and Josh confused) were disconcerting. 

"Hey, Josh," Donna remarked casually. "Are you going to join us?" 

"I don't think he should," SJ said. "I don't think he could handle a little R and R any longer." 

"R and R?" Josh replied. "Rixon and Rogers. Cute." 

"Aren't we?" Marilyn said. 

"Right," Josh said slowly. "Well, you go do... whatever." He pointed toward his office and walked toward it slowly. "I'm just gonna... you know... yeah." 

"He has such a way with words sometimes," Marilyn remarked as he closed his door. 

"Yeah, and he wonders why I never put him in a real book," SJ said shaking her head. "Ladies, shall we?" 

***************** 

Joshua Lyman   
The White House   
Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff   
September 25, 2001   
8:37 pm 

_ Everything's all right._   
_ Really… it is._   
_ I'm not worried. Nothing is going to happen. Just because two ex-girlfriends have taken my assistant out (against my wishes) and are probably telling her everything... (Oh, God everything?) they know about me should not upset me._   
_ Besides, I have more important things on my mind. I do have a country to run (or ruin, if my mother is to be believed). Donna left me with a plethora of stuff to mull over: biotech corn, prescription drug pricing, the thing about… about… something with genes, wasn't it?_   
_ Damn!_   
_ They're going to ruin... whatever. Donna is not going to look at me the same... What if Marilyn tells her about.... Or if SJ explains the.... There's just no way to live this down. I should go an play in traffic now._   
_ And what's even worse, I didn't even know they knew each other! That just can't be good. It's like one of the signs of Armageddon or something. SJ and Marilyn. Nitro, meet Glycerin._   
_ No. I will not think about this. It's childish, really, to want to know what's being said about yourself. I've got to focus on the task at hand. After all, I am a Master Politician. Even Marilyn would agree with me._   
_ Marilyn... Now, I could tells some stories about her. How would she like that? Yeah, back when she worked for Dubay--the village idiot gets elected to congress. The only bigger pain in the ass than him was... well, Marilyn. They call me an attack dog sometimes! But Mary! And how the hell does she know SJ? They're polar opposites. Mary plays 'In your face' ball all the time and SJ is quiet and subtle. At least that's what she wants you to believe. I guess viper is a better description of her. Actually, they aren't all that different...._   
_ But Donna? No, that just doesn't fit. No. Not with those two._   
_ If anyone, they should be having drinks with me._   
_ Okay, now I know how Sam feels when he gets his ass kicked by Ainsley._   
_ Ah ha! That's it!_

****************

"Hey, Sam" Josh said as he entered Sam's office. "What 'cha doin'?" 

"Just finishing up some notes for tomorrow's meeting," Sam replied. 

"Good, you're not doing anything. Let's go." 

"May I ask where and why?" 

"Because," Josh said sitting down in the visitor's chair. 

"Because is not an answer, Josh," Sam informed him. "It's a lame excuse used by children when they don't have a good answer and are about to get in trouble." 

"Trouble? Me?" Josh shook his head. "I was just thinking you might want to get out of the office for a little while to relax, if only for an hour or so." 

"Uh-huh," Sam said suspiciously. "Where do you suggest we go?" 

"Oh, I don't know," Josh replied nonchalantly. "That pub in Georgetown, Gilhoolies." 

"Right. You just want to spy on them, don't you?" 

"What?" Josh said defensively. "Sam, please. What makes you think that I want to spy?" 

"Because you have the world's worst poker face," Sam replied. "I ran into Donna on her way out tonight. She was with a couple old friends of yours, as I recall. She said they were heading to Gilhoolie's." 

"Sam," Josh said in a pleading tone, "what if this situation was about you?" 

"Well, I never dated either one of them, so…" 

"Sam!" 

"Oh, all right," Sam said closing his laptop. "I won't get any work done with you here anyway. Besides, this could be fun." 

"Trust me, it can't." 

"Well, not for you," Sam grinned. "For me, definitely." 

***************** 

The pub was busy but not overly crowded. Donna was feeling at ease--and not just because she was on her second Whisky Sour. She felt as though she knew these two, like they had been through something together and shared a bond. She knew that wasn't true, but they were likable. And entertaining. 

Or rather, their stories were. 

"And he couldn't get a single word out," Marilyn said, finishing off her tale of how she met Josh. "He's just so enraged that all he can do is give this wild glare and sort of quiver. So I'm thinking: This is Rep. Earl Brenan's hit man? Please! Why is anyone intimidated by this guy? He's obviously a blithering idiot!" 

Donna slapped her hand over her mouth to hold in her guffaw. She had ceased trying not to laugh 40 minutes earlier on the drive to the pub. She knew both women had intimate relationships with Josh at one time, and that part did make her uneasy, but the stories they told were like the kind you get from close family members: real grit. There was no doubt both knew him excessively well. Marilyn's description of Josh's tongue-tied moments was dead on--in fact he'd had one just that afternoon after watching an interview on CNN with Ann Stark 

"Of course, 10 seconds later when I jumped into the fray, I realized I had made a slight miscalculation," Marilyn continued, sounding humble for the first time. 

"He turned on you?" Donna ventured. She had seen it often; foolish congressional staffers charging headlong into the dragon's den only to run screaming for safety with their eyebrows singed off. 

"Let's just say I went to school that day and learned a lesson or two," Marilyn said. 

"So, how did you meet him?" Donna asked SJ, who had a look on her face like she was recording every word and storing it   
for some future writing project. "You went to college together, right?" 

"Well, we officially met in a poli-sci course," she said. "But, I saw him first the previous semester. It was sophomore year, right after Christmas break. I was in Cambridge one night, about 10 p.m. at this news kiosk. I passed this little alley that served as a park of sorts. Normally those are full of winos and junkies so I wouldn't look down them, but I heard two guys arguing, and it caught my attention. I look down an there's these two idiots in T-shirts playing basketball in 36 degree weather. And they're arguing: Guess what about?" 

"A foul?" Donna ventured. 

She didn't know much about basketball except that she did exceptionally well in the pools (better than Josh and Sam though they argued statistics of teams frequently). Donna picked teams based on uniforms and what she knew about the state where the school was located. Two years in a row she had picked the Final Four in the March tournament. All of her picks beat Josh's. 

"No," SJ said. "The Fourth Amendment." 

"Search and seizure law?" Donna asked. 

"Yeah," SJ agreed. "So I get closer and take a look at these guys. One I recognize right off. He's a professor--a god in his field: Alan Dershowitz." 

"The attorney?" Donna asked, her eyes growing wide. "The guy who did that case for Claus vonBuelow?" 

"Him," SJ said. "They'd been playing a while from the look of them--wringing wet on a cold January night. Dersh was looking tired and was apparently trying to brow beat his opponent with Constitutional law and cries of moral indignation. The guy he's playing is just standing there, waiting to check the ball. I could tell from the carriage of his head that this guy wasn't even impressed with Dersh; he's laughing and says: 'Want to know what I think, old man? I think your guy's guilty, but you know what I know? I have the ball, and I'm beating you so shut up and play.' My chin hit the ground. No one talks to Dersh that way--no one." 

"Was it Josh?" Donna asked, lowering her voice as if she knew the answer. 

It would be like Josh to speak that way to someone in authority. But something in her had doubts. After all, Dershowitz was a professor at Harvard and Josh attended law school at Yale. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't know a professor. Josh did seem to know just about everybody. 

"I didn't know who it was, but I was intrigued," SJ said. "I watched for a few more minutes and then left; they were still arguing. So spring classes begin a week later and I'm sitting in this poli-sci course, dreading it." 

"Didn't you minor in poli-sci?" Marilyn asked. 

"At that time, I was minoring in philosophy," SJ revealed. "The guy who sat next to me changed my mind. See, I'm sitting in that class, looking at the book, when this backpack gets flung into the seat next to me; the guy sits down, puts his feet up on the chair in front of him like he owns the room. He leans over to me and says, 'Pick your head up or you'll never survive.' I recognize the voice as the one I heard that night arguing with Dersh. So I ask what he means, but I don't move a muscle. He says, 'Cause this prof., when he smells fear, will eat you alive.' Well, I picked my head up instantly. I looked dead into those gentle, warm, excited eyes, and caught a flash of those dimples. I swear to you, ladies, I had a hot flash that could have melted this glass." 

Marilyn hooted and slapped her hand on the table. She and SJ raised their glasses in unison and clinked them loudly and uttered a word Donna had heard several times all ready that evening: "Breathless." 

"Why do you keep saying that?" Donna asked. "What's is this 'breathless' thing you keep laughing about?" 

"Kiss him someday and you'll understand," SJ said with a wink. "'Cause that's how you'll feel afterward."   
  
"You better believe it," Marilyn said as she fanned herself dramatically. "The day after he took my head off, I was sitting on the Capitol steps having my lunch, and I saw him come around the corner. His tie is askew; he's got his jacket slung over his shoulder and a pair of sunglasses on as he approaches. He walks by me then back tracks and tips the glasses down on his nose as he looks at me. I start having heart palpitations! Then he says he hopes I didn't take what he said the other day personally; at that moment, I couldn't remember what he said; I'm just grinning like a fool because he remembers me and my name. I won't even go into where things went the next time I saw him away from the Hill, but.... Oh yes, _breathless_!" 

Donna tried to keep her face passive. She had nothing to add, nothing she would dare to add at least, to this part of the conversation. She thought Josh was handsome in his own way and agreed that the way he carried himself, his confidence and energy, were a powerful combination. But it was not something she would tell anyone. She hid those thoughts. 

She looked up to see both SJ and Marilyn staring at her expectantly. 

"So?" Marilyn prodded. "What did you think when you met him?" 

Donna played coy with her answer. She explained their initial meeting, how she just showed up and picked the first empty office to proclaim as her duty station. She made certain not to remark on what she thought of Josh at that time. She wasn't sure what she thought; she remembered he was pushy and obstinate and didn't want to hire her. But in the end he did. It was the fleeting look of compassion in his eyes when he reluctantly agreed not to throw her out that she remembered best. 

"He took a chance," Donna said finishing her tale. "I know he can be a demon, and he's more than earned the label of tyrant at times, but he's really a nice guy at heart. When he wants to be, he can be a very sweet man." 

"Nice guy?" Marilyn repeated flatly. 

"Sweet man?" SJ followed up suspiciously. 

They exchanged a brief look then sat back in their seats. 

"Well, he can be," Donna said defensively, not liking the questioning look in either woman's eyes. "I've met a lot of very intelligent and wonderful people since I started working for the President. But I don't know that anyone else would have taken a chance the way Josh did with me. I didn't really know what I was doing at first, and he would get frustrated sometimes, but he never blamed me for my learning mistakes. I even left him to go back to my ex-boyfriend at one time. When I realized my mistake, I went back and Josh didn't hassle me or anything. We just picked up as if nothing had happened. That takes a special kind of person. I don't think most people know that about Josh, what he's really capable of. I mean, his shoot-from-the-hip comments and his relentless drive are well known, but he's also very observant and thoughtful. He's very passionate about his work, and he cares about the people around him as well." 

"It's okay, Donna," SJ said, nodding knowingly. "We're on your side." 

"Yeah," Marilyn agreed. "We're founding members of the Joshua Lyman Fan Club." 

"Oh," Donna said, her face turning red and feeling hot. "I didn't mean to go on like that. I guess spending too much time   
around Josh that I've lost the better sense to shut my mouth sometimes." 

"You want to talk about bad judgment?" Marilyn said. "Let me tell you about the time he talked me into going with him to Philadelphia at 3 a.m. in the middle of a blizzard to get french fries." 

***************** 

Josh and Sam arrived at the pub quicker than good sense would dictate--thanks to Josh's driving. As they walked passed the picture window, Josh stopped. He peered in and saw the ladies deep in conversation. Donna's back was to him, while Marilyn and SJ were facing the window. 

"Uh-oh. This doesn't look good." Josh commented. 

"Why?" Sam asked, looking into the pub. 

"Because Marilyn's being very animated with her arms and SJ's nodding along." Josh said lowering his head. "I'm screwed." 

"Don't worry," Sam replied, clapping Josh's shoulder. "It can't be that bad. C'mon, let's have a drink." 

The two deputies entered the pub and headed straight for the bar. Sam ordered two import beers and paid the bartender. Josh was focusing on the booth twenty feet away. 

"I am so dead," Josh said in a hushed tone. "There's no telling what they've already told her. Donna's never going to look at me the same way again." 

"When has she ever looked at you in any way," Sam teased. 

"Sam, you don't know these two like I do." 

"Boy if you're so paranoid about them, then maybe I would like to know them like you do." 

"Be reasonable, Sam." Josh said. "It's not…" 

"Not what?" Sam replied. 

Josh grabbed Sam and maneuvered him towards the back of the pub. With every step, Josh kept taking a glance backwards. 

"Josh, what the hell?" Sam asked. 

"Marilyn glanced over towards the bar, and I think we made eye contact." Josh said sitting at the nearest table and pulling a menu up towards his face. "If she saw me, we're definitely screwed." 

"Maybe it was just a brief look over, and she didn't register that it was you." Sam answered, pulling up a chair across from Josh. 

"Just pick up the damn menu and look at it," Josh replied through clenched teeth. 

"Okay," Sam said. 

******************

"So, then I said to Josh: 'Look Yankee, you're boss isn't even going to win a raffle if he keeps this up with the oil crowd.'" Marilyn said laughing. "For the first time, I won an argument. Of course, the down side is that we were just outside the House chamber and fully clothed. A lot of sexual energy was wasted on that little shouting match." 

"Oh," Donna remarked. "Well, Josh and I aren't... That is we don't yell. I mean, he does, but.... I pick my battles strategically. I never seem to win anyway, but..." 

"Don't take it personally, Donna." Marilyn said as she looked toward the bar. "It just takes…" 

"Takes what?" SJ questioned, looking at her friend. 

"Um, you know what? I just realized that we need a refresher," Marilyn said nodding casually over to the bar, where she just spotted Josh. She stood and tossed a code-filled glare at SJ. "SJ, care to join me?" Marilyn said. 

SJ followed the nod. "Yeah, I'll help you. We'll be right back, Donna." 

"Okay," Donna said. 

Marilyn and SJ casually walked over to the now empty bar. SJ ordered another round as Marilyn surveyed the room. 

"What do you think he's doing here?" SJ asked. 

"Well, I thinkYankee is nervous. He just couldn't stand it that we've interrupted his routine by taking Donna out." 

"Plus, he's scared that we'll tell her his dirty little secrets," SJ replied. 

"Either he's lost his confidence, or…" Marilyn began. 

"Or he thinks that Donna will think less of him." SJ finished. "Mary, could it be that Joshua has found an additional passion." 

"Yes, and I do believe her name's Donnatella Moss." 

The drinks arrived and SJ instructed the bartender to take them over to their booth and tell Donna that they would be right back. Marilyn and SJ then took off towards the table that contained the duo. 

"Hello boys, " Marilyn said when they reached the table. 

"Why, SJ and Marilyn!" Josh said, feigning surprise. "I didn't know you were here." 

"Pinocchio lies more convincingly than you do, Lyman," SJ said. "Godzilla would make a better spy than you." 

"I can assure you that there's no spying going on at this establishment," he said casually. "Sam and I were just out having dinner to discuss strategy." 

"Yeah," Sam said. "What was that strategy again?" 

"Give it up," Marilyn said rolling her eyes. "Don't use that 'Master Politician' tone with me." 

"You know, you're incredibly sexy when you're like this," Josh remarked. "Both of you." 

Marilyn and SJ crossed their arms and shook their head. 

"Didn't work?" Josh asked. 

"That has never worked." SJ commented. 

"It did once," he argued. 

"It didn't," SJ replied. "I took pity on you." 

"Josh, let me make this short and sweet," Marilyn said as she leaned on the table. "You know we think of you fondly; we don't know why all the time, but we do." 

"How do you know each other?" Josh asked. 

"Ask Sam," SJ said, watching Sam try to sink behind his menu. "He introduced us years ago." 

"Sam?" Josh remarked, turning an accusing glare in the speech writer's direction. 

"Hey, we're talking strategy here ladies," Sam said clearing his throat. "This is official business." 

"You're officially full of crap, Sam," Marilyn said with a sweet smile. 

"We met the night you and Mary parted ways," SJ explained. "Sam took Mary out to cheer her up or congratulate her--I forget which." 

"Yeah, and while we were out, SJ was there celebrating the fact that she's just quit her job over at the Department of Justice," Marilyn continued. "She knew Sam, and they started chatting. Then he introduced us so he could take off with some tart in a low-cut shirt." 

"Leslie was not a tart," Sam said defensively. "She's a performer." 

"God, not another one!" Josh exclaimed. 

"No, she's a musician," Sam said helpfully. 

"Anyway, Mary and I got to talking and suddenly your name came up, sweetheart," SJ said pinching his cheek. 

Josh sat back and narrowed his eyes as looked at the two of them. It was difficult to be mad and very easy to be wary. Two intelligent, vivacious women who he had, briefly at different times, considered as part of his future. 

"I would think you would trust us," Marilyn chastised him. "We only dish dirt on you to each other." 

"Why are you talking to my Donna?" Josh demanded. 

"What?" Sam asked abruptly. 

"I mean, my assistant," he corrected himself as he shook his head. "Whose name is Donna." 

"Because we like it when you sweat," Marilyn whispered in his ear. "I'll make you one promise. We won't tell her anything that could damage either you or us." 

"Yeah," SJ added. "And really, Joshua. It's better she hears all this now rather than later." 

"Why?" Sam asked suddenly. "What's later?" 

"What indeed," Marilyn said throwing a wink at them as she turned to leave. 

"You're on your own with her," SJ said softly as she patted him on the shoulder. "We'll just show her we don't think you're a complete ass all the time. Although tonight pretty near blows that theory to hell." 

"Eloquent as always," Josh said. 

"Well, fun time is over," Sam said tersely. "Double-oh-seven and I need to get back to the White House." 

Josh and Sam stood from the table. Sam looking concerned and perturbed. He thought Leo had this thing nipped. That was why he had no qualms about the evening recon maneuver. He thought Josh was interested more in seeing either Marilyn or SJ again. That now appeared to be a faulty conclusion. 

"Uh, gentlemen?" SJ said as they prepared to leave. "I think it would be better if you left out the side entrance. That way, Donna won't know you were here." 

"Thanks," Sam said as he Josh turned toward the door. 

"Well, that was something else." Marilyn remarked. 

"Quite illuminating," SJ replied. 

"Well, we shouldn't keep our guest waiting," Marilyn remarked. "Let's get back to the party, shall we?" 


	9. Heartland

qchap9 **Title**: **THE QUEST**, Chapter 9: **Heartland**   
**Authors**:_ **Enigmatic Elli**e and ****Westwinger247_   
**WingNuts** **website**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com 

Donna sat on the floor of Josh's office; her legs crossed. She was sifting through various reports, hoping to find something that could be used as part of the President's education platform. It was a gorgeous, autumn Saturday afternoon, and Donna felt at home. She was back at the office, working. This was the first weekend in months that Josh asked (it was more like a barking demand) her to. She picked up the last report when Josh breezed in, balancing drinks in one hand and take-out boxes in the other. 

"Hey!" she said, straightening out her legs. "You got us lunch. Great. I'm starving." 

"A… little help… please," he begged. 

"Oh, right," Donna said as she sprang to her feet. She grabbed one box and one drink, set them on the desk and took a seat in the visitor's chair. Josh took his place at the other side. He opened his box and crinkled his nose. 

"Ugh! Donna, I think I got your salad," he commented, reaching for the other box. His hand recoiled immediately after being smacked by Donna. 

"Ow! Donna…" 

"Nope, this time the burger is mine," she said casually. "You need to start eating healthier." 

"Says who?" he scoffed. 

"Josh," she sighed "This type of food you eat is no longer good for you." 

"You wanna know what," he remarked. "I don't even let the Surgeon General talk to me like that." 

"That's not what she said," Donna continued, ignoring his glare. "You don't want to have to go to the doctor for an angioplasty to get your arteries unblocked, do you?." 

"Frankly, Donna, I'm not worried," he said casually as he reached for a french fry. "A doctor down at GW took a good, up close look at 'em a while back." 

Donna dropped the burger and glared at him. The occasional quips about nearly being killed or being bullet proof were disturbing but she was normally able to dismiss them. It was just the warped side of Josh's sense of humor slipping out in those moments. She noted, most frequently, those moments occurred when he was in situations that came too close to revealing some inner weakness he felt was a tragic flaw; the gallows humor was a defense mechanism. And, all things considered, it was a rather tame one for Josh. However, the comments never sat well with her. Donna's recollection of the aftermath of Rosslyn was probably as vivid as Josh's--and in some cases more so as her pain had not been muted or dulled by painkillers. 

Her silence prompted Josh to look at her and take in the offended glare. He settled back in his chair, entrenched for a fight. 

"Okay, the look...," he said defensively. 

"Josh, it's not funny and you know it!" Donna replied and said more quietly. "If this is that shrink's way of treating you, then I'd suggest finding a different therapist." 

Josh lowered his head and sighed. He wanted to explain to her his reasons; only he didn't fully understand them himself. He wasn't sure he should explain, even if he could. After all, Donna didn't need to know everything about him. Granted, there was precious little she didn't know. But that didn't give her a privilege to know more. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know more, but some part of him felt the need to explain and the urge to apologize. It was the look on her face, the one she tried to mask with annoyance that got to him. He could see that Donna didn't like hearing him say those things because it hurt her to hear them and hurting Donna was something that hurt Josh nearly as deeply. 

"What was that?" Josh asked as he realized she had spoken to him. He shook his head and focused on her words rather than her eyes. 

"I said, do you want to see what I've found for the President's education package?" she asked. 

It was, in fact, not what she had said initially, but since he did not appear to have registered her first comment she had strategically changed the subject. She was glad he had drifted out of the conversation. Her unconscious slip of the tongue would have been as embarrassing as it was true. And she didn't feel she could share those kinds of feelings she had about Josh with Josh. 

"Tell me what you've got," Josh said leaning back and placing his feet on the desk. 

"Did you know that fourth graders can't read?" she asked, holding the report in the air. 

"No." 

"Well, new figures show that more than two-thirds of the fourth graders in the nation cannot read proficiently. The latest from the National Assessment of Educational Progress, also known as…" 

"NAEP?" Josh guessed. 

"No," Donna rolled her eyes. "Also known as 'the nation's report card,' showed that in a 500-point test, the average fourth grader scored a 217. The average of the top 10 percent of the students went from a 261 to a 264; not a significant increase. However, the bottom 10 percent dropped from a 170 to a 163. Private schools fared a little better. Their average was 234. That's.... It's unbelievable.... incomprehensible! We have to do something." 

"And I take it from the furrow in your brow that you have a suggestion," Josh said. 

"We need to reeducate the educators." 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Very original. You've obviously factored in various quality initiatives, expenditures, social factors and the general opposition to change encountered whenever we suggest 'fixing' anything. So now for my follow up question: How precisely?" 

"I don't know," she said emphatically. 

"Right," Josh said. "Thank you." 

"I just know that its not working the way things are and nothing any other administration has done has worked either," Donna continued. "Josh, public school systems all over the nation are trying different methods of teaching children to read, while all the while, the teachers themselves haven't been trained to teach how the developers want them to teach. Whatever happened to the old 'See Spot Run' series?" 

"It went out with high tops and bell bottom pants," he said flatly. 

"Bell bottoms are making a comeback, you know," she retorted. "Why can't old-school teaching?" 

Josh tilted his head and smiled at her. Donna had a way of making even the most complex situation appear simple and manageable and nearly understandable. In this time of modern technology and new fangled teaching, why can't old-school methods work? 

"In other words, if it ain't broke, don't fix it?" he surmised. 

"Exactly. You and I were both taught like that, and we came out okay." 

"I'd like to think I came out better," he grinned. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she scoffed. "I know the SAT scores, the diplomas from the Ivies and the Fulbright thing. I've heard all that before, Josh, many, many, many times. I could recite it in my sleep." 

"You talk about me in your sleep?" Josh asked, suddenly interested in Donna's sleeping habits. "What else do I do in your sleep?" 

"That question, I believe, is of a personal nature," she blushed. 

"Well, it's never stopped you before," he countered. 

"This time I think I'll refrain from telling you," Donna replied. 

She paused for a moment and took a bite of the burger. 

"Am I in your dreams?" she ventured. 

"That question, I believe, is of a personal nature," he parroted. 

"Fair enough," Donna replied. 

"Okay, back to business," Josh replied, thankful that she didn't pursue her question. "What else do you think we should do?" 

"Well," she thought, "we should have a standard way of teaching children how to read." 

Josh grimaced. Donna hopped immediately on the defensive to find out why. 

"You toss the words 'standard ways' into any education proposal," Josh argued, "and certain vocal, liberal factions--ones we need to court seriously for next November-- and our ever-annoying counterparts on the severe right start in with their tirades..." 

"This is when you start calling them Joseph McCarthy disciples?" 

"Yeah," Josh said. "They start throwing around the words Communism and accuse us of infringing on their freedom to choose their own methods; there's the argument that we..." 

"But it's not politics," Donna pleaded. 

"Yes, it is." 

"No, it's not," she said. "It doesn't have to be. It's about teaching kids to read. Josh, this is a fact: Children in North Carolina are learning a different way to read than children in, say, Vermont. So what happens when the father of the kid in North Carolina's gets a job transfer and has to move the family to Vermont? Since there's no standardized reading system in place, the child could be considered a slow reader in the Vermont school system. And this kid will be labeled a special needs child. It's going to cost Vermont a lot of extra money to bring this kid up to their standards. That's a waste of taxpayers' money because there's nothing wrong with this kid--he just learned differently. And that's not the only waste." 

"There's more?" 

"Yeah, that poor child's self-esteem," Donna said. "He will never get to realize his potential because one state labeled him special needs. You don't think that affects how a kid matures and approaches ever other aspect of his education? Of his life? And what about military children? The typical military family moves every three years. Those poor souls get lost in the system. Some come out of it all right; some don't. Josh, these children are the future this country. Let's get some stability in our educational system. Forget the uniforms; forget the school vouchers. Reading is fundamental, as the old saying goes." 

Josh placed his feet on the floor and sat up. 

"Where's this coming from, Donna?" 

"I did research." 

"No," he shook his head. "The facts are the research. I meant you're... passionate about this. I don't recall educational philosophy being among the scads of majors you test drove for a fraction of a semester. And I know you don't have children so I'm wondering why...." 

"I'd like to eventually," she said hesitantly. "And in the future when I do, I want them to have the best education possible. I went through the Wisconsin public school system. And I came out fine. I'd like them to experience what I experienced. And I think that the President can make it happen." 

"Okay," Josh nodded. "Let's go present this." 

"N.. no," she stammered. "I was just doing the research and making a casual observation. Leo asked you to do this." 

"Well, we're gonna run it by Leo, but I think we stand a good chance of...." he trailed off as she shook her head vigorously. "Donna, I would have never thought of presenting this to him. The basic concept here is your baby. You should be there to see if it takes its first steps." 

"I… I couldn't," Donna rebuffed. "Josh, I'm... You're the one who does this. I'm... I do index cards for you. I mean, we both know I do more than that--and might I add for considerably less pay than I deserve--but this is a big thing, this education thing you guys are pulling together. If it was such a good idea, why hasn't anyone else thought of it?" 

"Who says they haven't?" Josh replied while coming from around the desk and standing beside her. "That's not the point, Donna. It sounds like we could work with this. I'll pitch it, get some feed back and see if it can go anywhere. We're not adding a two billion dollar line item in the budget for it yet. We're putting it on the field to see if it will make the first cut. So come on. Let's go see." 

She vehemently shook her head in opposition. Josh's opinion aside, Donna still knew that she was just an assistant and nothing more. There was a small, but discernible, resentment among some of the assistant deputies--those people to whom Josh was a supervisor--that Donna already had too much involvement in the administration. She occasionally joked she was the Deputy-Deputy Chief of Staff, but she was under no delusions about her position. She was grateful Josh placed so much responsibility on her shoulders, but that came with a price and many sacrifices. She didn't mind her extra duties, but she felt awkward even being in the room when a suggestion of hers would be put forward for a possible policy of administration should consider backing. 

"No. Josh," she was emphatic. "It's not my place. If I had found a proposal some other official or legislator drew up eons ago that matched this idea but somehow got lost, that would be one thing. But I'm not a policy advisor and if this is a good idea, I think it would fair better if people didn't know it came from someone who's greatest academic achievement was graduation from high school." 

"Okay, I think you're wrong and need to re-evaluate how we run things around here, but I won't force you to come with me," he conceded. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm pitching this to Leo so we can see about kicking it around with the Department of Education. But I'm not taking credit for this." 

"What if it turns out it's really bad?" 

"Okay, if it is, then I'll find a way to shift the blame to Sam," he said. "But it's not, Donna. Trust me. I've worked on lots of education initiatives that made less sense and still got voted in. So when Leo says, kick it around and see what's what, I'm gonna tell him and the President that the foundation of this idea came out of sometimes spacey, yet ever-fertile mind of Donnatella Moss." 

"Spacey?" she said. "Okay, now you're not getting anymore of my fries." 

"The correct answer is that you stole my fries," he pointed out. "I paid for this lunch." 

"Yes," she agreed. "And you haven't touched your salad." 

"There is something patently wrong with eating green food," he said as he walked toward the door. 

"Fine," she said as she took a large bite of the burger. "I'll wait here." 

"Chicken," he said exiting. 

***************** 

  
  
  
  
  


Donna rounded the corner towards the bullpen and met up with Josh. 

"Hey," she said, "how'd the meeting go?" 

"It went well," Josh said confidently. "Leo likes the possibilities. The President wants to know more but agrees with your read of the situation. In fact, he's got people searching for his old literature textbooks to use as examples if this goes anywhere." 

"That's fantastic," Donna beamed. 

"Hey," Josh said, suddenly realizing where they were, "where were you coming from? Were you waiting?" 

"Oh, I was around," she said. 

She had been wandering between the Communications Bullpen and Josh's--pacing. She wanted to know what was going on in Leo's office and at the same time didn't ever want to know what transpired in there. 

"You mean you were skulking around," he chided. "You were nosing around--anxious to see what I did with our brilliant idea." 

"Our?" she inquired. "When you left your office, it was mine and you were forming contingency plans to lay it off on Sam if it blew up." 

"Yeah but I did my thing and it's better than it was so...." 

"So you decided you'd take credit," Donna inferred. 

"Trust me when I say, it's lonely at the top and you'll learn to appreciate the company." 

Sam was several paces behind them as he heard the exchange. He quickened the pace, amazed as always at their synchronisty as they navigated the halls of the west wing. Josh's arrogant strut, coupled with Donna's unassuming stride melded into a kind of physical poetry that, did it not scare him with implications, would have fascinated Sam. 

"Hey guys," he said, barreling between Josh and Donna. 

The corridor was too small for three people to walk together, so Donna dropped back to allow the deputies to converse. It seemed to her lately that Josh's bizarre behavior shifts of the summer had been passed on to Sam. His manner to Donna was no unlike the assistant deputies. He seemed to be placing himself between she and Josh, literally and figuratively. He sat with them if they ever had lunch or coffee in the Mess. He frequently called and interrupted their working lunches in Josh's office. Donna felt she was being pushed aside or even dismissed. It's not that Sam was being cold to her, but he was managing to make her feel like the third wheel. She was concerned that he had picked up on her suppressed feelings and was subtly making his opinion of them known. 

But she shook off those thoughts. That was not Sam's style. He would be more apt to encourage someone he trusted to develop a relationship with Josh. Sam was Josh's best friend. Sam would want him to be happy. And if, by some chance, he did not feel that something developing between Josh and Donna was appropriate, he wouldn't be insidious about blocking the thing. He would be forthright. He would talk with Donna privately and express his concern, giving her the chance to explain the situation. Sam was not deceitful. Subversive and underhanded tactics were not his style. He abhorred them. 

"I heard about the education thing," Sam said. "Great idea." 

"It was partially Donna's," Josh answered back and giving Donna a slight smile. "She thought of it and I... repeated it." 

"Nice going," he threw back at Donna, not looking at her. 

Again she noted the distance Sam was placing between she and Josh. She shook her head and let them stroll ahead. 

"So you heard about Iowa?" Sam said. Josh's blank look prompted an explanation. "After the caucus, we're taking a detour." 

"What do you mean?" Josh asked. "We don't have time for detours." 

"Well, Leo thinks we need to court the agricultural community while we're out of Washington," Sam informed him. "We're making a couple stops--I don't remember them all--but we're going to Nebraska..." 

"Nebraska?" Josh repeated. "In November? Are we going to be given Prosaic to curb suicidal tendencies?" 

"And Wisconsin for certain," Sam continued ignoring Josh's editorial views. 

"Wisconsin?" Donna asked. "When?" 

"Two days after the caucus," Sam replied. 

"Then I can go," Donna said, her mood lightening. "I mean, can I go? Josh, I really need to go." 

"Of course you're going," he said. "Who's gonna..." 

"No," she cut him off. "I know I'm going with you, but I need some time off. My cousin is getting married that weekend. I haven't seen my family in a year--some of them I haven't seen in several years! I'm not getting home for the holidays. Please! I'll rent a car or buy a ticket myself from where ever it is that we'll be beforehand. Then I'll meet up with you guys in Wisconsin. Come on. I'll just be in Madison for two days."   
Madison was the place they were going, Sam said. His interest in Donna suddenly shifted from non-existent to emphatic. He argued her case with more fervor than she herself felt. He waylaid all of Josh's objections before they were fully out of his mouth. In the end, Josh was forced to merely shrug and say, "I guess so." 

Donna enthusiastically hugged Sam then proclaimed she needed to call and urgently RSVP her aunt. She hurried down the hall to her desk sporting a grin she hadn't worn in weeks. Josh watched her make her anxious and excited call. He wasn't pleased she would be off duty for 48 hours, but the smile on her face was enough to dispel most of his not-so-professional objections--the kind he didn't let his mind form fully for fear of what they might mean. Instead, he continued to listen to Sam who was then shifting subjects to polling numbers that Toby was fretting over. 

***************** _Air Force One_   
_Thursday, November 15_   
_9:35 a.m. EST_   
_Somewhere over West Virginia_   


"You'll never guess whose going to be at the wedding," Donna said without preamble as she leaned on the arm of her seat, as usual adjacent to Josh. 

"The bride and groom?" Josh remarked as he continued reading. 

Leo had handed him a sheaf of notes just before take off and wanted an summary and assessment. Josh was to meet with Leo and the President in less than 10 minutes to discuss the matters in his hands and several others to be occurring back in Washington while most of the staff accompanied the Commander-in-Chief on what Josh felt was an ill-timed trip. Josh was not pleased with the scheduling change for several reasons: Toby's opinion on the necessity of the trip had prevailed over his own and Donna was prattling on about her family gathering. While he could normally deal with the unending details, the fact he had no where to hid should they become too much was unsettling. He checked his watch again to see if it was time to retreat to the President's private office. It was not. 

"Bradford," Donna announced. 

"Who?" 

"Bradford," she repeated. "He's going to be at the wedding and of course I'm so excited to see him." 

"Why?" Josh sighed rubbing his hand over his face and admitting defeat in his search for a moment of solitude to do his work. "Who's he?" 

"I've never told you about him?" Donna replied. "Wow, I'm surprised I've never mentioned him before." 

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "So what's the deal with Buford?" 

"Bradford," Donna corrected. "He was my high school boyfriend." 

"Ah, Buford, the first Gomer," Josh smirked. 

"Bradford. And he wasn't a Gomer." 

"Why are you telling me this?" 

"I was sharingm" Donna said. 

"Donna, I'm not into sharing." 

"Sharing is a virtue," she informed him. 

"So is patience, and I'm not into that either," he said sharply. Her impassive face stopped the rest of the rant he was ready to loose. Instead he sighed. "Okay, fine. Share. Why did Buford break up with you?" 

"Bradford," Donna said. "And why is it that you think every guy I date breaks up with me?" 

"Have I been wrong yet?" 

"Technically, yes," she responded. "Need I remind you that I broke up with... well, _him_ the second time around?" 

Josh shook his head, remembering the conversation from calmer times, before either of them heard the news of the President's illness. He meant it when he informed Donna that he wouldn't stop for a beer if ever she was injured again; Josh just wasn't really certain as to the meaning behind those words. He was even more confused with Donna's reply: 

_If you were in an accident, I wouldn't stop for red lights…_

"Josh?" Donna asked waving her hand in front of his face. "You still with me?" 

"Huh? Yeah. Sorry, I was just wondering about Buford.". 

"Bradford." 

"Yeah, yeah. So what does he do? Live at home still? Teach Driver's Ed? Hang out at the bowling alley looking for love in all the wrong...." 

"He sells farming equipment back in Madison," Donna interjected. 

"Ah," Josh smirked. "He hawks tractors for a living. It's amazing, Donna, that you didn't snatch up Farmer Brown all for yourself." 

"I know what you're trying to do," Donna retorted. 

"You do?" 

"Yes, and it won't work." 

"Well then could you tell me," Josh said. "See I have no idea what we're doing right now and if there's anyway I can avoid this kind of conversation with you in the future, I'd just as soon..." 

"You're trying to rattle me," she proclaimed. "It won't work. This is the first time in a long time that I get to see my entire family. There's nothing you can say that will make me mad." 

"You can't go to the reception." 

"WHAT?" Donna exclaimed. "No! Josh!" 

"I have like 11,000 things that need to get done while we're in the state," Josh informed her. 

"Josh," Donna pleaded. "You promised me that I could have the entire day to myself. Don't back peddle now." 

"Donna…" 

"Let her go," came Leo's booming voice from behind the two. "Josh can survive without you for 24 hours, Donna. Hell, he can do it for 48." 

"Forty-eight?" Josh said stunned. "No." 

"No?" Leo echoed. 

"Never," Josh said in an entrenched tone. 

"Never?" Bartlet repeated as he sached down he aisle. "That's a discouraging word, Josh. We're heading into the heartland--there's a song about words like that. Need I remind you?" 

"God, don't let him start singing," Josh mumbled as he buried his face in his hands. 

"Leo, Josh, the thing," Bartlet said and jerked his head to the side with a smile. Leo nodded and said they would be just a moment longer. The President accepted this and moved back down the plane toward his private office. 

"Leo, we've got meetings upon meetings, and I'll need…" Josh started to protest again as he stood and gathered his notes. 

"Forget it," Leo interrupted. "If you need it that bad, do it yourself. I don't want to hear another word about it. Donna's got a 48-hour respite from you. If I could, I'd go along with her, just so as I don't have to listen to the State Party Chairman whine." 

"You rather listen to me..." 

"I'd rather do neither," Leo cut him off as Josh made his way down the aisle.   
  
  
  


***************** 

Toby sat in the conference room, perusing the pages of the New York Times. The big headlines and most vital stories were read by him hours earlier. Leo and Josh were meeting with the President and Toby had only one regret about not being in that meeting. He enjoyed the perturbed pinch in Josh's face when they boarded the plane. He was a worthy friendly rival for the ear of the President. Toby was savoring his win in this round. He wasn't so sure similar bouts as the campaign heated up would end so cordially or peacefully. 

So Toby was taking his moment of victory and solitude to soak in some culture: the theater section. He could not recall the last time he saw a play--an entire play. He wasn't even sure he liked theater but there was something soothing and enjoyable in reading grand, dramatic productions for which the success was known almost instantly after the curtain rose. 

In the midst of his quiet time, the door opened and Sam entered with a determined look. Toby swiveled his eyes to his deputy then swiftly back to his pages. He made a strategic decision not to acknowledge him. Solipsism was his word for the day._ Sam does not exist if I don't want him too,_ Toby thought. 

Sam stood over Toby for several moments in polite silence. When he realized that he was not going to be addressed, he defied Toby's control of the situation. 

"Hey," he said brightly. 

"Go away," came the terse reply. 

Sam took that as a cue to sit down. "So, we've got some time off for the next hour, huh?" 

"Go away." 

"Leo's still meeting with Josh," Sam continued. "I think they're going over the thing one more time." 

"Good," Toby said turning a page and still refusing eye contact. "I think that's a good idea." 

"I think so, too," Sam agreed. "Know what else I think?" 

"I could care," Toby said. "Can't you see I'm trying to read?" 

"I can see that; I'm choosing to ignore it. I think we need to go out." 

"Oh, well go right ahead,"' Toby invited him. " We're 30,000 feet above solid ground. I'll hold the door for you." 

"I mean in Madison Friday evening," Sam offered. "All of us. Okay, maybe not CJ." 

"I don't want to go out and why not with CJ?" 

"She's calling me Spanky again." 

"I plan on working on finishing up the Presiden't speech," Toby continued. "Someone needs to make intelligible oratory out of your typos." 

"I don't make typos.... my computer does," Sam defended. "Look, Toby. We need to do this. It's.... There could be farther reaching implications if we don't." 

"Farther?" Toby inquired. "Sam, what the hell are you getting at? And make it 10 words or less." 

"Keep Josh occupied. There, that's three words--you owe me seven more." 

"Josh is going to be plenty occupied," Toby proclaimed. "He's got tons of meetings, which frankly, are a waste of time, but I'm glad he's got them and not me." 

"Yeah, and when they're done, there's all the rest of his time," Sam argued. "Frankly I think it behooves us to make sure it is filled with appropriate.... comradeship." 

"Behooves?" 

"Toby, you know how.... relaxed things get when we get this far away from the office," Sam started. 

"No, because I don't relax and normally don't leave the office." 

"Well, some of us do. And now some of us can't. See?" 

"No, but thank you for that stunning display of useless explanations." 

"You're reading the paper right now," Sam continued. 

Toby leaned forward on the table, finally meeting Sam's gaze. He remarked upon his deputy's stellar observation skills and suggested he offer them to the captain of the plane or perhaps the Secret Service detail. However, Sam was uncowed. 

"You came in here for a little peace and quiet, a reprieve from our normal chaos," Sam said. 

"And yet you bother me," Toby mused. "Would you get to the point?" 

"I've made my point," Sam said in summary fashion. "This is your thing. I do my thing, and Josh has... well.... Donna." 

"No," Toby said lowly. "No, I am not hearing this. Sam, I told you so many times that to say it again might make me seriously contemplate homicide but I'll do it all the same: Let it go." 

"Toby, don't you see the danger zone?" Sam retorted. "We don't have the office to keep to things in their proper places. I mean, there's this imaginary line. They won't cross it in the office. But out here? There is no line, Toby." 

"There is an you crossed it so far back you can't even see it anymore," Toby said lifting his paper up again. 

"How can you not see it?" Sam asked. "The subtext is.... it's bold, it's blinking... it's neon!" 

"There is nothing there!" Toby said in a dismissing tone. "And even if something was there, it's none of our business. So if it's not a political problem, I don't want it on my radar. As far as I'm concerned, they're two consenting adults." 

"Excuse me?" Sam exclaimed. "We're talking about Josh. Adult is a relative term, and how can this not have political implications?" 

"Because it doesn't," Toby said firmly. "We're gearing up for the toughest presidential campaign of that 100 years. That's all Josh sees right now. You could put the Rockettes naked in front of him, and you wanna know what his first question will be: Are they Democrats? His second question: Are they Bartlet Democrats? Okay! He's in political commando mode only, so put it to bed, would you please?" 

Sam stood and jammed his hands in his pockets. The heat from his face pulsed in his neck and cheeks. He took off his glasses for fear they might steam. His jaw clenched as he controlled his ire with Toby. Biting back the barbed comments that leapt so readily to mind was a feat in and of itself. After a moment of dissecting Toby with a laser sharp glare, Sam turned for the door. 

"You're wrong," he said with his hand on the doorknob. "Toby, I know Josh better than you do. If it were any other person, he wouldn't see them, but it's Donna. With her it's different. He loses his train of thought when she walks by him some days. While some part of me finds that intriguing, most of me is scared about what it means to the rest of us." 

Toby considered not answering, but Sam's juvenile fixation with this alleged secret affair between two staffers grated on Toby's nerves like fingernails down a chalkboard. Several phrases jumped to his mind, cutting words that were as true as they were harsh and eloquent. Toby's only regret was that Sam had uttered them first--and even then they were directed at Toby. 

"Selling out your friends for the sake of political gain offends them.," Toby reminded him. 

Sam paused, the words settling into his mind. He recalled the anger and frustration that originally prompted them. He knew, at the time, they were accurate and necessary. But this was different, he felt. He didn't know how or why, but to him it was different. In fact, everything was different now. Ever since a certain midnight conversation with Leo and President Bartlet in the Oval Office in the early spring, nothing was ever the same. 

"True," Sam relented. "But I never said your words weren't effective, which is why I know I'm right. Toby, you were the   
one who justified to me putting the drop-in in that speech because the numbers were scaring the hell out of you. You said sometimes politics change everything. You were right." 

"Josh isn't a problem," Toby said. "Politics and public opinion are the hurdle. I know you want to argue image to me, but I set the message for this administration, not Josh. And I don't want to hear some pathetic argument about his ability to focus. I don't care if he can't walk and chew gum at the same time. So far, he's quite capable of working next to Donna without tossing democracy into the shredder. So obviously this "problem" you think he has hasn't manifested itself." 

"And who do you think has been the one preventing it so far?" Sam sighed as he left the room.   
  
  



	10. Much Ado About Bradford

qchap10 **Title**: **_The Quest_**, Much Ado About Bradford   
**Authors**: Westwinger247 and Ellie   
**Notes**: _Sorry it took us so long, folks! FYI, there are like 20 more chapters so don't worry about whether this is the end. There's a lot more where this came from. Thanks for reading!_   


Madison, Wisconsin   
CJ Cregg's Hotel Suite   
8:30 p.m. 

_Go with him, he says._   
  
_ Go with him? What does he think I am? A baby-sitter? I don't get paid enough to keep these boys in line.___

_ Okay, so Josh on occasion does need some... supervision. But, and I would stake my miserably inadequate paycheck on it--this is not one of those times. The stress is getting to Leo already. That has to be it. Why else would he be sending me to watch Josh talk to a local party chairman? I'm not the politician. I'm not even in the loop half the time. And, from what I know, this guy was friendly to the party and the president! Even Josh isn't stupid enough to... well, he is, but he wouldn't screw this up. There is nothing to screw up!___

_ No, there's something else going on here. Sam met with Leo over lunch, just before Leo caught a flight back to DC. I know they were talking about the changes in the schedule since we've decided to go to Seattle to view the damage from the earthquake yesterday and whether the President should make brief remarks or just be there. But I get the feeling there's something else going on. Leo's not happy with Sam about something and... well, I have no proof, but I'm a woman and I sense things... Josh is involved somehow.___

_ *****************_ __

The rental car raced along the straight and darkened road a solid 20 miles per hour over the posted (and easily visible) speed limit. CJ sat in the passenger seat scowling, with her arms folded, as she stared cautiously out her window toward the endless darkened fields. 

"I still don't see why I had to go with you," she said for the third time since they had left the hotel parking lot. 

"Sam insisted," Josh said, tapping his hands on the steering wheel, agitating her further.. 

"Since when is Sam in charge of me... or you," CJ countered, then reached across and quieted his percussion techniques. "Do you mind?" 

"Fine," Josh said, then started to unconscious tapping again. "CJ, I was kidding about the cows." 

"I know that," she said. "I know you were kidding." 

She continued to scan the pastures on either side of the stretch for the menacing red glow of large eyes. They were out there. She knew it. Where else would they be? 

"There are no cows with rabies," he said, feeling the proclamation unnecessary. "No one was attacked. I made it up." 

In his peripheral vision, Josh watched the press secretary, her eyes nearly quivering in their sockets. The muscles around her mouth were tense and twitched the way they did after being blind-sided in a press conference--something that didn't happen often. Her posture was hunched in a defensive way and she appeared ready to jump from the moving vehicle should the feared attack ever appear. 

"How can you be afraid of cows?" he asked loudly. 

"They don't like me and the feeling has become mutual," CJ said tersely. "Stop smirking. White Supremacist hate you; vindictive bovines are my nemesis." 

The trouble had started in New Hampshire during the first campaign. Then-Governor Bartlet had her accompany him to a discussion with New England dairy farmers to talk about the controversial New England Dairy Compact. Who suggested the group take a walk in the pasture for some photos, CJ did not know. What she did recall was a curious Holstein. 

"Is it crazy to think the word Holstein has some Jewish origin?" she asked, seething from his mirth. 

While cows were on CJ's mind, Josh's mind was on the Chairman of the Wisconsin Democratic Party. The telephone conversation between him and Leo did not go quite as well as expected, due to the Chairman's desire to get to the wedding reception of his nephew, who coincidentally was marrying Donna's cousin. 

Josh was instructed by Leo to head to the reception to talk with the Chairman's staff about setting up a face-to-face meeting the next afternoon. Upon hearing where Josh was headed, Sam informed CJ that she was to accompany him, much to Josh's chagrin. 

They arrived at the reception at 9 pm and went to a corner of the reception hall with members of the Chairman's entourage. Fifteen minutes later, after a successful conference and the Chairman's word that he would be available for a 7:30 am meeting, they said their good-byes. It was as they were leaving the back room that Donna saw Josh and CJ. Surprised to find the familiar but out of place faces at the family wedding, she approached them--concerned something had gone wrong. 

"Why are you here?" she asked frantically. 

"I know why you're here," Josh said sharply to Donna, then turned his sights toward CJ. "What I want to know is why are you here? You were precisely no help back there, you know that?" 

"No one needed to call the cops so apparently I served my purpose," CJ retorted. "I found out two hours ago that I'm your body guard or something for the next three days, I think. Why, I don't know. But let me say, don't expect me to be throwing myself in front of you should anything happen. I've noticed that people generally don't like you that much and I don't get paid enough to suffer those consequences. Though, if I wanted to, I'm sure I could be good at the job. That man was intimidated the moment I walked in the room... Hey, is that Mark Ashford?" 

"If I had a clue who that was I might be able to help you there," Josh said with a shrug. 

"Yes, that's Mr. Ashford," Donna replied. "He's the editor of the state's biggest paper, Josh. He's a cousin of the groom's mother, I think." 

CJ nodded and said she needed to speak with him about an interview his paper was requesting with the President. She stalked off to spar with her quarry, a hint of the devil in her grin. 

"So where is he?" Josh asked. "Where's Saint Buford of John Deere Land?" 

"Bradford," Donna sighed. "Josh, don't start. He's not here." 

"Imagine my surprise," Josh said feigning shock. "It's Okay, Donna. Just admit it. He's not real, is he? You made him up." 

"I did not." 

"Buford's a figment of your imagination," Josh asserted with a curt nod. 

"BRADFORD is not made up, Josh," Donna protested. "He was here but had to call it a night. He's got a convention of his own to prepare for." 

"Sure he did," Josh condescended. "He and all the little fairies and leprechauns went back to their magic mushroom houses so they can rise at midnight and dance beneath the Harvest Moon. I understand." 

Donna pursed her lips and dug her fingers nails into her palms to keep from smirking. He was not going to do this to her--not here, not now. She was surrounded by her family and this was her home turf--sort of. That counted for something. Josh's mouth and wily and addle mind was not going to take over her evening while he waited for CJ to finish mentally maiming a pushy yokel editor. 

"I'll prove it to you," Donna said as she reached into her purse and drew a ring from the bag. "He gave me back my ring. He said that he shouldn't have it anymore. It just wasn't appropriate." 

"Wow," Josh nodded. "So he dumped you twice? And this time at a wedding? That's harsh. You still think he's so wonderful?" 

"I dumped him in high school," Donna sighed, shaking her head as she realized her error. 

Even letting the dialogue continue after Josh's initial observation had been a fatal miscalculation. She realized several sentences too late that she was not dealing Deputy Downer but with the other alter ego: His Regal Annoyingness, the Prince of Passive/Aggressive Behavior. 

"Right," Josh agreed. "Your story sounds very.... convenient. I mean, Buford giving it back to you here and yet not being here." 

"Bradford," she insisted. "And he did, Josh." 

"'Cause no one else on the planet could have had your class ring," he continued. "You couldn't have found it at, say, oh, I don't know, your parents house or something." 

"That's right," she agreed, knowing it would do no good but feeling compelled all the same. 

"Because that would be outlandish," Josh said. "Whereas a secret boyfriend, who you never mentioned before, mystically appearing at a family wedding then disappearing without a trace is completely believable." 

"I don't need to tell you every aspect of my personal life," she said trying to grab for a handful of the higher ground. "I already heard enough about Dr... you know... from you to last a lifetime. I knew I should have never mentioned Bradford to you." 

"And yet you insisted on sharing," he pointed out. "Hey, whatever gets you through the day, Donna. Just let me say this, when you're ready to admit you need help, I know people you can call." 

It was his superior smirk more than the callous remark that she disapproved of. She shot him a warning glance that appeared to only further his mirth. 

"Shut up," she snapped. 

"Donnatella Moss, that is no way to speak to someone," came a booming voice from behind. 

Donna grimaced at the sound of a familiar voice. She turned to face the only person that could make her feel like a child - her father, Artemis Moss. 

Artemis Moss stood stoically in front of his youngest daughter. Donna's mother Patricia accompanied the silver-haired gentleman. Patricia came to Art's shoulders and their clothes were pristine. 

"Josh, these are my parents, Artemis and Patricia Moss," Donna said politely. "Mom, Dad, this is my boss, Josh Lyman." 

"Pleasure to meet you both," Josh said as he shook their hands. Josh studied the two for a moment and saw that while Donna got most of her looks from her mother, her eyes were the mirror image of Artemis. 

"So, this is your employer," Art mused. "Donnatella, I know your mother and I raised you better. Why aren't you referring to him as Mr. Lyman?" 

"Yes, Donnatella, why is that?" Josh smirked. 

"When you start acting like a Mr. then I'll start calling you that," Donna shot him an evil stare. 

"Donnatella," her father scolded. "That's no way to speak to a superior." 

At the word 'superior' Donna's peripheral vision caught the slightest twitch from the corner of Josh's mouth. While the grin did not appear fully, it didn't need to for Donna. She knew it was there even if no one else could see it. 

"Yeah, he's a superior, all right," she steamed. "A superior pain in the a..." 

"Donnatella!" her mother interjected. 

"Work for him for 24 hours, mother," Donna protested, feeling 12 again and on the verge of being grounded. "And I mean 24 hours around the clock because that's pretty much what he expects." 

Her mother then turned an apologetic gaze on Josh, offering her sympathy. "You should feel privileged to do what you do, my dear. I wouldn't go scoffing at anyone. You're fortunate Mr. Lyman is the kind of man he is. Not many men in his position would have hired you." 

"Mother," Donna huffed. 

"Don't take that tone with your mother," Art warned her. 

"Oh for cryin' out loud," Donna groaned. If her mother wasn't guilting her, her father was scolding her. Donna knew what it felt like to be facing a double-barrel shotgun of parental charm. 

"Now, now, Donnatella," Josh smiled. "There's no need to get hostile." 

"Oh, great. They've gotten to you now." 

"I'm just saying...." 

"See here, young lady," Art waved his index finger in the air. "Mr. Lyman, you let her speak to you in this manner?" 

"Dad, I'm not 12 anymore!" Donna yelled. 

"Then don't act like a child," he continued with his scolding. 

"Stop treating me like one!" Donna said. "You've never stopped, Dad. Just once..." 

"Donnatella," Pat warned, "don't raise your voice to your father." 

"It's never going to stop," Donna said, shaking her head. 

"Well, if you would use the brains the good lord gave you," Art spouted. 

"What?" Donna asked shocked by what her father said. 

"Running off the second you get a notion in your head," Art said. "I'm surprised you've stayed in one place this long. You do worry me, Donnatella. I'm waiting for the day you call to tell us you've moved to Ecuador to follow some Missionary..." 

"I've stayed because I love what I do," Donna said, exhausted at having to defend her choice yet again to her father. "I'm excellent at my ASSISTANT'S position. Do you know who organized the President's Summer Kick-Off Celebration? Me, Dad. It was me. All me." 

Donna stood toe to toe with Artemis, not backing down. She finally had a worthwhile career and her father was not going to belittle that. Not this time. 

"I'm sure you're a good party planner and a good secretary, dear," Art mused. 

Donna threw her hands up in disgust. Her father had once again managed to turn Donna's life into something trivial. "There's no getting through to you is there?" 

Art turned to Josh. "She is the one who needs some getting through. That hard head of hers is... is..." 

"Impervious," Josh offered, pleased to help. 

"Precisely," Artemis said gratefully. "Impervious to common sense some times. She's proven to us time and again how she can't focus on any one thing that's constructive or worthwhile. Eighty different majors at college and then throwing it all away for a man who anyone could see was… well, I don't want to mention that. Whether it's her career choices or her boyfriends, she hasn't given me much reason to have confidence in her since she got out of high school." 

"If that's the way you feel, then fine," Donna fumed, her face feeling hot and choking back tears. " You have your opinion and I have mine. But, I won't stand for this anymore. I'm leaving. Josh, you can stay and listen to them berate me for the rest of the evening, but I won't. I'll see you back at the hotel." 

Donna turned on her heels and headed for the exit as swiftly as her legs could carry her. 

"Donnatella," Pat sighed, glaring at her husband. "Oh, did you have to say that?" 

Patricia excused herself then ran after her daughter, hoping to catch her and convince her to stay. 

Josh, seeing the pain in Donna's eyes from her father's reprimanding words, decided to step into the lion's den. 

"She's not hopeless," Josh offered. 

"I have yet to see proof," Art scoffed. " She goes off gallivanting after god knows what, just because that jackass of a boyfriend dumps her. I, by the way, never liked him." 

Josh nodded in agreement. "With good reason, it seems. But if you think of it one way, it was a good thing--in retrospect." 

"How is it a good thing?" 

"It compelled her to start over," Josh began. " She ended up working with the President of the United States. That's not too shabby." 

"She should have gotten her degree," Art declared. "After all, what if you don't win this time around? It's not looking good for you right now. And what happens to my Donnatella then? She has no degree to fall back on." 

"Her job is secure," Josh said. "The White House might not pay her, but she's got a job for as long as she wants it." 

"Are you saying that you'd take her?" 

"I'm saying I'll need to be dead and buried for five years before anyone hires her away from my staff." 

"She's that good of a secretary?" Art asked. "Even though she treats you with such disrespect?" 

"I get people elected to office and then I help them legislate," Josh explained. "To do both I need people I can trust. There are few people on the planet I trust as much as Donna. And she's not a secretary. She's my assistant. That's like... like my lieutenant, my deputy. As for the disrespect, it's really not. Donna helps keep us honest and keeps me thinking." 

"So, Mr. Lyman," Art approached. "Tell me what my daughter does that is so valuable to you." 

"Okay, but first, you can drop the Mr. Lyman. Frankly, that always makes me look over my shoulder for my father. Please, just call me Josh." 

"Okay... Josh." 

Josh cleared his throat before he began. "Well, Donna is the best assistant I've ever had. The fact she focuses on so many things, that her interests are so varied, is her greatest asset. She catches little pieces of stuff that the rest of us who are so focused on just one thing tend to miss." 

"Donnatella always was very inquisitive as a child," Art informed him. 

"It serves her well," Josh agreed. "Because of that she helped stop a filibuster last year because she noticed something about Senator Stackhouse that no one else did." 

"Donnatella? My Donnatella stopped that windbag Stackhouse?" Art asked. 

"She helped. " 

"I notice you didn't correct me when I said windbag," Art commented. "He is a member of your Party. That's not... uh, politically correct of you. ." 

"Most things about me aren't," Josh said. "I'll never be the most popular member of the Party." 

"You don't sound concerned," Art remarked. 

"You don't need to be popular to be right," Josh observed. 

"Now tell me, is that cynical or conceited?" 

"It's both," Josh said with a shrug. "It's also realistic and the absolute truth. That's not unlike Donna's approach to the world and it's helped us out a few times, like with the filibuster. She saw something during that led us in one direction we hadn't thought about, and it turned out to be the key we were missing. Don't misunderstand me, politics is not her game. But people, there she has insight and compassion and without that, no politician--no worthwhile one-- can be any good." 

"Well, I'll be damned," Art exclaimed. 

"You should be proud." 

"I'm always proud of her," he defended. "I know it seems like I'm a little rough, but I just want the best for my little girl." 

Josh nodded. "I can see that. She probably understands that on some level, but as you know, Donna can be kind of sensitive. She's independent enough to do things on her own, but praise can go a long way." 

Art and Josh looked over at the coat-check at the two generations of Moss women. Josh studied Donna for a moment, and then turned his gaze towards her father. He watched as Art looked at Donna, a smile appearing across his face. For a brief moment, Josh wondered what it would be like to be in his shoes. 

"Are you married?" Art asked, turning towards Josh. "Do you have any children?" 

"Me? I'm married to democracy." 

"Well, if you ever do and you have a daughter, you'll know what I'm talking about and where I'm coming from," Art said. "Donnatella knows I love her. I'm just not that affectionate kind of father. I always left that kind of thing to her mother." 

"It's obvious Donna was raised in a close family," Josh said. "I don't think she expects anything more from you. But she might appreciate a simple acknowledgment that she's done something worthwhile with her life and done it on her own, without anyone's help." 

"Well, by your accounts, I can see that she is doing better than I thought," Art replied. "But, working in the White House? Don't get me wrong, I know what it is you people do, but her mother makes it sound like she knows the President himself." 

"That's because she does," Josh said. "Donna's briefed the president on some minor matters of his own personal interest. She's the one who explained her pick up on Senator Stackhouse's diatribe to him. President Bartlet knows Donna quite well." 

"But, she's only a secretary." 

"Again, she's not a secretary," Josh said, fighting to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "She doesn't fetch coffee--even if I beg--or take dictation. As for knowing President Bartlet, she met him when he was still Governor Bartlet. I hired her as my assistant, and she goes where I go. Her work is my work, and I'm the Deputy Chief of Staff. That gives her a lot of access. Did you know she was the only assistant invited to his Manchester farm for the Senior Staff annual Fourth of July retreat?" 

"My goodness," Art sighed. "My Donnatella's certainly come up in the world. You seem to know my daughter much better than I. Can I ask you something?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Is Donnatella happy?" 

Josh shrugged as he responded. "She's overworked and underpaid, but she keeps coming back for more, so I can only assume...." 

"Yes," Art nodded. "Well, as long as she's happy, then I'm happy. I do have one request from you." 

"From me? What?" 

"Take care of her and see that she stays happy." 

"I can tell you that she'll never want or need for anything," Josh assured him. "Donna means so much to ... all of us. If she ever... Well, she wouldn't even have to ask. We'd take care of her. I can promise you that." 

"I'm asking you," Art said firmly. "Let me tell you something, Josh. I make my mind up quickly about people and consider myself a fair judge of character. I've decided I like you. And I'm entrusting my daughter to your hands. Promise me that you'll look out for her." 

"Of course." 

"Good," Art smiled and clapped Josh's shoulder. To Artemis Moss, a shoulder clap was his way of granting permission to the deputy to whatever was necessary to make Donna's life happy. 

At that moment, Patricia returned with Donna. 

"Hi," Donna said shortly. 

"You didn't leave I see," Art said. 

"No," Donna answered as she faced Josh. "Josh, CJ left with Mr. Ashford a couple minutes ago. I told her that I'd take you back to the hotel." 

"She got it under control?" 

"She had that look, you know. That Cheshire Cat one." 

"Poor man," Josh chuckled shaking his head. "Well, we better get rolling,. We've got about 10,534 things let to do." 

"Only that many?" Donna grinned. "Jeez, I thought we at least had 10,600 left." 

"Yeah, it should be a snap," he smirked. "I'm leaving about 90 percent of it to you to finish tonight so we'd better get going. I'll want a full report before 11." 

"Right," Donna said with a roll of her eyes. 

Josh again shook the Moss' hands. "Nice meeting you both." 

Donna hugged and kissed her mother and lightly hugged her father. Art held on and leaned to her ear. 

"I'm proud of you, Donnatella," he whispered. "Never doubt that." 

Donna pulled back and looked into his blue eyes, seeing that his words were spoken from the heart and wasn't a standard apology. With tears blistering in her eyes, she hugged him tighter and walked away. 

Donna and Josh head for the car in their near perfect unison. Donna started the engine, and they drove in silence for a few moments, before Josh spoke. 

"Did you enjoy your furlough?" Josh asked. "You don't look as though you had the time of your life." 

"I guess I was just hoping for a peaceful reception, that's all." 

"Why? What happened?" he questioned. "Did I miss a fight? Brawl between the bridesmaids over the bouquet? Someone belt the caterer?" 

"Josh," Donna chided. "I meant the 'Let's see what else we can find wrong with Donnatella's life' extravaganza that you got to experience with my father." 

"Don't let it bother you," he said. "All parents do that. Well, mine didn't, but I'm normally the exception to most rules. Your father wasn't being insulting. He was just... being your father. He just didn't understand what you did." 

"Well, I'm sure you left him with some great barbs he can tell the rest of the family," she moaned. 

"Actually," he corrected, "I told him you've briefed the president and are probably one of the most in-demand assistants inside the beltway; I also delineated between what an assistant is versus a secretary." 

"You did?" 

"I'm capable of answering questions. Are you?" 

"Of course I am. Why?" 

"Well, he had no trouble asking me, a stranger, what you did," Josh began. "I was just wondering if he had ever asked you, and if so had you answered or take offense to the question instead. " 

"He never really asked or cared what I did," Donna replied. "When I call home, I mainly just talk to my mom. Dad always thought that what I did wasn't really important. Sure, I'd talk to him on the phone, explaining in general terms what I did, but he'd just say 'Uh-huh. That's nice, dear.' and wanted to know when I was going to go back to college." 

"What did you say?" 

Donna took a deep breath before beginning. "I told him I didn't know. I'm just too busy trying to organize your life and keep you from flying off the handle. That in and of itself takes a lot of time." 

"I'm sure," Josh agreed. "Glad I don't need to do it myself. But see, here's my thing: Why didn't you ever say 'I'm working for the President right now and that's important too'? Most parents, upon learning their daughter works for and with the President would be impressed. Hell, my mother's impressed and she's known all my life this is what I was aiming to do." 

"I don't know why I never said that, Josh." 

"You should find out, Donna," Josh offered solemnly. "You're gonna wake up one day, and he's going to be gone. Then you'll never be able to tell him all the things you wish you'd said." 

"Yeah, I know," Donna sighed. 

"He wants what's best for you and he worries about you," Josh whispered as he gazed out the window at the Wisconsin farmland. 

"So, Josh," Donna hedged. "What did you and my father talk about?" 

"Oh, the weather, the stock market, nuclear test ban treaties. You know, the usual." 

Donna pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked the car. "Josh…" 

"What do you think?" he chuckled. "What could that man and I possibly have to talk about?" 

"So you talked about me, huh?" she asked as they exited the vehicle. 

"You're name might have come up," Josh circumvented. 

"If it's bad, don't tell me," she warned him. "I would hope that you at least said some nice things about me to him." 

"Well, I really didn't have time once he pulled the baby photos out of his wallet," Josh remarked, keeping his eyes forward away from her scrutiny to hide his bluff. 

"What?!" 

"And he said something about some incident at a band concert..." Josh ventured in a strategic tone. "What was that again?" 

The entered the empty lobby and made their way to the elevators with Donna groaning. Josh stifled a quick grin as his stab in the dark paid off. 

"Oh god..." Donna moaned as she buried her face in her hands. 

"You want to tell me your version, for the record?" Josh prodded. 

Donna pressed the elevator call button, took a deep breath and began her tale. 

"I was trying to concentrate on the piece we were playing," Donna said sorrowfully. "I wasn't watching where I was marching. You know it's really hard to play and count steps at the same time." 

"Uh huh and that's when it… happened?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, a ripple of red rising in her cheeks. "I didn't mean to trip the entire tuba line and drum core." 

"Was it like dominos?" 

"Yeah," she said softly as she nodded. "And those poor flag girls..." 

"You took 'em all out?" he exclaimed. "You and your flute! What parade was it again?" 

"It wasn't a parade," she corrected. "It was the half-time show at our Homecoming - and in front of all the alumni." 

"Right. Right. Homecoming," he hastily agreed with a smirk. "The big game." 

"I can't believe he told you that, Josh," Donna muttered. 

"Actually," Josh admitted with a bold grin, "he didn't. I was just fishing for anything there." 

"WHAT?!" Donna exclaimed as she slapped him on the back of the head. "I can't believe you did that to me!" 

"I can't believe you didn't think I would," Josh said as he placed one hand on her shoulder while rubbing the sore spot on his head with the other. "Come on. Don't you feel better now that you've shared?" 

"No. Why did you do that, Josh?" 

"Well, it served no great purpose, but it entertained me,." he admitted without regret. 

"Wonder if the stairs are faster?" Donna asked as she stabbed the button again. "You are incorrigible." 

"But entertained!" he defended. "I feel I know you so much better now." 

"I'm here to please," she drolled. 

"That's my girl." 

"Where are those stairs?" 

"Other side of the lobby," he said gesturing to the doors across from the front desk. "Of course, you can take the stairs, but then you'll never hear what we did talk about." 

Donna looked around the foyer at the hotel's décor. She tapped her foot and crossed and uncrossed her arms. Josh stood beside her, a teasing grin on his face as he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. 

"It's killing you, isn't it?" he asked. 

"No." 

"Okay," Josh shrugged and turned as the elevator chimed and the door opened. 

"What did he say?" Donna gave in. 

"I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you," Josh sighed. 

"Josh." 

"Your father had an interesting suggestion," he said as they entered the elevator. "It seems he worries about his daughter being so far away from home and in such a complicated world. He's not sure you can fully and properly look out for yourself." 

"I can look out for myself just fine, thank you." 

"I know that," Josh concurred as the elevator rose rapidly to the seventh floor. "I tried to plead your case, but it didn't work. So, I had to put his mind at ease." 

The elevator doors opened and the pair exited and headed towards their rooms. "What did you do, Josh?" 

"Put him in a headlock." 

"Josh." 

"He asked me to be your keeper, sort of.," Josh relented as he cleared his throat and continued in an uncomfortable fashion he relented. "I just said that he shouldn't worry that you'd be… you know... looked after, by... us." 

"Josh… I," Donna said as she looked away. "I'm glad that you said that... just to make my father feel more at ease about me being in DC." 

"I meant it," he said softly. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I didn't just say it for the sake of the conversation," Josh declared. "You know that you can count on me if you need anything, right?" 

"I guess so," she said, taken aback by his comment. 

"You can," Josh restated. "You're part of the team and I... I'm not gonna let anything happen to my best asset." 

"You..." Donna said shakily as she moved towards Josh and hugged him. 

"Uh, Donna…" 

"Yeah?" 

"Come on... Don't..." he whispered, not bothered by the embrace but feeling awkward all the same. 

"You really can be a nice guy," she sighed, breaking the hug. 

"Yeah... well... keep that a secret, would ya?" 

"No one would believe me anyway," she sighed then pointed toward the door to her room. "Okay, I guess it's time to..." 

"Right," he agreed. "You know what I like best about Wisconsin?" 

"What?" 

"Real keys," he said fishing one out of his pocket and slipping it into the lock with ease. He grinned madly at the maneuver, as though he had felled a giant with one blow. 

"Well, we'll modernize yet," Donna said as she rolled her eyes and wondered again whether he was an actual Harvard graduate--she had never seen a diploma to prove it. 

Josh opened his door but paused before entering. He leaned on the casing and turned toward his assistant. 

"Donna." 

"Yeah, Josh?" 

"Did you have a good time seeing your family?" he asked. 

"I did," she smiled. 

"I'm glad," he nodded. "You deserved a day off." 

"Thanks." 

"But I've got a phone meeting with Leo at 6 a.m. so be ready early tomorrow," he reminded her. "Since you blew off all your work today, you've got double duty tomorrow to catch up." 

"Right." 

**Coming soon... Chapter 11... _The British Are Coming..._**


	11. The British Are Coming

qchap11 Title: **_The Quest_**, The British Are Coming (chapter 11)   
Authors: Westwinger247 and Ellie 

Thanksgiving week rushed by in a blur with drastically fewer people than normal taking time off. The reason for the vacation cancellations was arriving via the RAF a few days after the holiday. Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth Windsor and her husband Prince Philip were to be arriving in the United States for an official visit. Their arrival coincided with the United States and Britain being the first signatories to a new environmental treaty ratified by the United Nations. In honor of both occurrences, the White House was hosting a State Dinner the Friday evening after their arrival. The buzz the event created drove all thoughts and chances at a leisurely week at the office from everyone's minds. Toby and Sam locked themselves in a conference room to work on the President's remarks--giving special aim at the election looming on the horizon as well as the global economic summit on the schedule for early June. 

The Office of Protocol made sure to give all staffers attending the dinner a refresher lesson on ettiquette--and tried in vain to do so with members of the press as well. Though there was the expected amount of grumbling, there was also an air of anticipation in the air, leaving all staffers who would be attending with a feeling of genuine excitement. 

All except Josh. 

He had vehemently argued seven different in failed efforts to wheedle his way out of attending. Time and again he heard his least favorite word in the English language: No. He finally decided to push all thoughts of the gala out of his mind, as though ignoring it might make it disappear. He hoped in the end to be overlooked in the bustle so that his absence would go unnoticed. However, at least one member of the staff would not let his plan move forward. 

Donna knew that he was going and intended to be there as well. She walked into his office on a Wednesday afternoon with a steaming hot mug in hand. 

"Good afternoon, Joshua," she said pleasantly as she set the mug in front of him. 

He stared at it suspiciously then turned his questioning gaze on her. 

"What the hell is that?" 

"It's a mug filled with a hot liquid made from the cocoa bean," Donna informed him. "In laymen's terms, it is known as coffee." 

"I know what coffee is," he sighed. "I'm saying why are you bringing me coffee? I just spoke to Leo on the phone about a meeting next week so you can't be worried that I've been fired. That is unless something's happened in the last thirty seconds…" 

"I want to go to the State Dinner tomorrow night," she said. "I think you should take me." 

"Oh, and you think bribing me with coffee will make me say yes?" he smirked. 

"I figured that telling you that you're a handsome and powerful man wouldn't work a second time," she surmised. 

"Couldn't hurt." 

"Josh." 

"Donna, I don't even want to go to this thing," he said. "Why do you want to?" 

"Because the queen will be there," Donna reasoned. "It's not everyday that an ordinary person gets to meet the queen." 

"When did you become ordinary?" Josh asked. 

"Come on," Donna pleaded. "You know what I think? I think you want to take me, but you just don't know it?" 

"That's what you think?" Josh responded. "I think I might know if I wanted to take you." 

"But you might not," Donna countered. "I'm your assistant. You can trust me on these things. You want to take me." 

"Even if I say you can come," he continued, "that doesn't mean that you'll meet the queen. She'll be with the President and First Lady the entire evening." 

"Okay so I won't meet her," Donna admitted, "but I can at least say that I was in the same room with her. And since you didn't say no yet, I'm taking that as an invitation to accompany you. So I accept." 

"What is your fascination with royalty?" Josh asked. "Personally, I'm no fan of the peerage system. And, professionally, I think tomorrow's a waste of a perfectly good work day." 

"You'll work right up to the minute I drag you out the door and then immediately after the gala's over," Donna said. 

"Yeah, but the hours in between are wasted." 

"So can I go?" she asked. "Please, Joshua." 

Josh looked into her bright blue eyes filled with hope. He eventually sighed. 

"That means you'll take me!" she ran around Josh's desk to embrace him. "Oh thank you! Thank you!" 

"Donna…" 

"Oh! Sorry," she blushed as moved back from him. She then walked back around the desk and took a seat opposite him. 

"Do you not have enough work to do?" he asked as he looked up from his reading. "'Cause I can always give you more." 

"Yeah, but I'll get to it," she said brushing off his remark. "Queen Elizabeth will be the second royal I'll get to see." 

"Okay, I'll bite," he sighed, tossing his file aside and looking squarely at her. "Who was the first, Donna?" 

"Lord Marbury." 

"Right, the nutjob will be there." 

"He's fabulous," Donna smiled. 

"He's a lunatic," Josh declared. 

"He is not," Donna replied. "You know for someone who claims not to be threatened by him, you certainly do a good impersonation of someone who is threatened by him." 

"Go earn your paycheck!" 

"He's suave and sophisticated," she said as she slowly stood. "He knows how to woo a woman. It's evident in his aura. Maybe if you paid attention, you'd learn a thing or two about how to woo a woman." 

"So you've decided to go international to find your gomers?" 

"Don't be nasty and don't change the subject." 

"I wasn't changing the subject," Josh said. "I don't even know what the subject is." 

"I'm discussing your lack of woo," she reminded him. 

"My lack of…" he said stupefied. "What the hell does that mean?" 

"You, Joshua Lyman, are woo-less," she proclaimed. 

"I can assure you that I have woo… whatever that is. I just choose not to use it." 

"Well, duh," she said with a rolling of her eyes. 

"Find your desk." 

************ 

The senior staff finished scribbling notes as the meeting in Leo's office drew to a close. It was late Friday afternoon but already evening was settling in as the first day of December's gray mists began to close in on the city. In another room not far away, a full scale assault for the sake or protocol was underway as the staff prepared to welcome the royal guests and commemorate the signing of a new environmental treaty, that had been spear-headed by the US and Britain, and had been signed earlier that week at the U.N. 

"Okay, we're done," Leo proclaimed. "Now you can all go run home and put on your civilized duds. Everyone is in the East Room no later than 7:30--got that, Josh?" 

His deputy was tipping back in a chair beside the desk, sketching pistols on his note pad rather than actual notes. In his hands were the latest FBI numbers regarding the effectiveness of the Brady Bill and more recent legislation regarding trigger locks. Josh was more interested in what federal statisticians being paid a quarter of his salary had to say than anything that had come out of Britain in the last 30 years--and had made no effort to conceal that opinion throughout the preceding 48 hours. 

"Why are you picking one me?" Josh asked as the rest of staff rose and drifted out of the room. 

"Because you're my problem child," Leo said as he returned to his seat and met Josh's innocent look with a scowl. "I don't want to go to this thing either, but I'm going." 

"So since you have to suffer so do I?" 

"In a nutshell," Leo said. 

"Technically speaking, I don't have to go," Josh observed. 

"Enlighten me." 

"Would you take argument on a precedent decision?" Josh queried. 

"You actually got one?" Leo asked mystified. "I know the President didn't write you an absentee note." 

"A president did, in fact," Josh stated. "Thomas Jefferson." 

"He's dead," Leo said firmly and unnecessarily. 

"But he was the president." 

"Was he really? The things I learn in this job..." 

"Leo," Josh said hotly. "The gentleman from Virginia wrote us all a get out of jail free card where these people are concerned! It starts with the phrase '_We The People;_' and to summarize, it says I don't have to do anything in honor of our friends across the pond." 

"You'll do it because I said so," Leo said ending the discussion. 

"Right." 

***************** 

Evening rolled around and the action at the White House increased. Agents from both the Secret Service and Her Majesty's Royal Guard could be seen throughout the White House, with the largest contingency hovering around the East Room. The President retired to the residence to meet the First Lady and change into the white-tie tuxedo that was his custom at these events. The senior staff was already changed. CJ was giving final instructions to the invited press members; Toby and Sam were going over the final draft of the President's remarks; Leo was meeting with the Senator Foreign Relations leadership about their final squabbles on the environmental treaty, and Josh was hiding in his office reading the report on the Brady Bill numbers. 

Donna, clad in an ice-blue strapless dress, entered his office and watched him pacing for a few minutes. She saw that Josh had yet to put on his tie. This did not surprise her; it always seemed to be the last item put right on his body and the first to go askew. She had several theories on why this happened, including some sort of metaphysical repelling force emanating from his DNA. But, rather than while away precious moments on how someone many people--including herself--thought cleaned up nicely could simultaneously be so disheveled, Donna swept into action. She entered the room and grabbed his jacket from the back of his visitors chair then attempted to keep pace with him as he traversed the room silently reading from a file in his hands. 

"Would you stop pacing?" she asked. 

"I'm trying to work," Josh stated. 

Donna stepped in front of his path and snatched the file out of his hands. "Not anymore." 

"I was reading that." 

"Well, now you're not," she placed the file on the opposite corner of his desk and folded his jacket primly on top of it then grabbed his tie from the floor. "Quit moving so I can do your tie. Honestly, I don't know why you don't know how to do this yourself." 

"Can I have that back?" he asked reaching for the file. "And who says I don't know how to do it myself?" 

With one hand pushing against his chest, Donna held him at bay. "Forget the numbers for now, Josh. And I've yet to see you tie your own tie. Really, is making this simple knot that different from the ties you wear on a daily basis?" 

"Give me that," he said, whisking the tie from her fingertips and began fiddling with the knot. "Donna, these numbers on the Brady Bill are more important than dining with blue bloods. I should be making calls tonight and not listening to that arid sensibility that passes for dry British wit." 

"Many of the people you would be calling will be in the East Room tonight, so you can work your magic there," she said. "Now, tie your damn tie." 

Donna stood and watched as Josh fumbled with the piece. 

"Donna!" 

"Yes?" 

"The tie," he fumed as he dropped the ends in frustration. "Just… do whatever to it." 

"Having a little trouble?" she smirked. 

"My mind is on other things," he stated. 

"I've seen you do many things at the same time," she mused. "I'm surprised something so small has defeated you." 

"Bullets are small and those defeat people all the time--which if you would let me finish with that report I could quote you numbers to back up," Josh proclaimed. 

"I hate it when you talk like that," Donna said firmly. "Now, quit stalling with the tie." 

"I'm not stalling with it," he proclaimed. "I'm protesting its necessity." 

"Okay," she rolled her eyes and began knot the ends properly. "How could you have not learned this? Did you get your other girlfriends to tie it for you, too?" 

_My other...?_ Josh thought. _No, no she didn't say other. She said old. Yeah, that's it. Old girlfriends. Wait, how does that make it any different...._

_ Did I just say other?_ Donna thought in the same instant. _I couldn't have. I didn't say it. I said something else. I definitely said something else. Oh please, dear God, let me have said something else._

Josh took a deep breath. "I can tie it, Donna. I usually have a mirror in front of me when I do it, that's all." 

"Want me to find you one?" 

"Just finish." 

Donna smirked briefly then quickly finished the job. 

"There." she said patting his chest and admiring the sight in front of her. "All done. You were a good boy, Joshua. Sorry, but I don't have a lollipop." 

"If I thought it would do any good, I'd fire you," he said grabbing his jacket and thrusting his arms through the sleeves. "And let me get one thing straight, there's nothing you can do to make me enjoy this thing so don't even try." 

"Heaven forbid, Joshua," she mocked. "I told you why I was here. I'm here to see the queen and the Ambassador." 

"You have a thing for him," Josh observed. 

"No," she disagreed. "I just want to say hello." 

"He is one step shy of being a social embarrassment to his government," Josh commented. "You might want to avoid people like that." 

"Why? I work with you," she smiled. 

Josh scowled then turned deftly on his heel and left his office. 

"Thanks again for letting me come," Donna said as she shuffled down the hall to catching up with him. 

They navigated the warren of offices and made their way toward the East Room where they would be ushered into the gala according to protocol. 

"Yeah. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts," Josh remarked. "I'm guessing the police will be here tomorrow afternoon for you." 

Donna looked at Josh quizzically. "The police? Why?" 

"After you return that dress," he explained. "You did get it specifically for tonight, didn't you?" 

"Josh," she sighed. "I told you yesterday that I was wearing one that I already own. This is the same dress that I wore to the State Dinner two years ago. I wore this one last July as well." 

"For what?" 

"At the President's campaign fund-raiser before we all went to Manchester," she reminded him. 

"If you say so," Josh shrugged. 

"I should have known you wouldn't remember," she whispered before turning to face him. "You need anything before we go in?" 

"A bottle of No Doze and a promise to make someone page me out of here in thirty seconds." 

The doors to the East Room opened. The greeter announced that Mr. Joshua Lyman and Ms. Donnatella Moss had arrived. A Marine Guard in his dress blues escorted Donna into the room. Josh followed them to the area where the other staff members were hovering. A pleased sigh out of Donna several minutes later signaled that Lord John Marbury had entered the building. 

"There's the Ambassador," she said gesturing to the man, who instantly parted with his statuesque companion. "Doesn't he look wonderful?" 

"For what?" Josh asked. "An upscale rummy? A philandering rake? A lunatic of the first order? Yeah, he looks great." 

Marbury flowed through the crowd, gripping hands and grinning for photos like a career diplomat. He made his way along on side and started toward the cluster of White House staffers milling about the room. Before long, his eyes eyes settled on the familiar visages of the Deputy Chief of Staff and his assistant. 

"Ah, Josh!" Marbury exclaimed as he strode purposefully toward him with his hand outstretched. "How are you this evening?" 

"I'm fine, Mr. Ambassador," Josh replied. "Good to see you." 

"Yes, isn't it," Marbury responded. "And your companion is... Oh my, Donna, isn't it? I nearly didn't recognize you." 

Marbury smiled as he picked up Donna's hand and kissed it. 

"Ah, permit me to say that you look positively smashing tonight," Marbury said . "Doesn't she, Josh?" 

"Yeah, she's a real kick in the head." Josh sighed and stole a glance at his watch. 

Donna elbowed Josh in the ribs. "That's very nice of you to say, Ambassador." 

Marbury expertly snagged two champagne flutes from the tray of a passing porter. He handed one to Donna and tipped the other for himself. Josh let his eyes roam and finally caught Sam's eyes. The deputy speech writer was standing rigidly in front of a woman with deep auburn hair who appeared to be lecturing him. 

"Well, it's not everyday that I find myself in the company of such a fascinating, unattached and, may I say, gorgeous American woman," Marbury gushed. "It's as if the stars fell out of the sky and landed in your eyes." 

"Oh, please," Josh muttered while he made minuscule head jerks toward Sam to rescue him. 

In return, Sam made a similar motion toward Josh. It was then that Josh recognized Sam's assailant: Mallory O'Brien. Josh stifled a smirk. 

"And did I hear correctly that you're full name is Donnatella?" Marbury continued, his hand now resting on her forearm. "I didn't think that you could get more ravishing. But, Donnatella is an absolutely beautiful name." 

"Thank you, sir," Donna blushed. 

"My dear, would you be so kind as to promenade with me?" Marbury asked as he offered Donna his arm. "I must make the rounds but to do so alone is dreadfully arduious--and just between us--with so many of my countrymen here I fear it will also be unspeakably boring." 

"I'd be delighted," Donna smiled, then turned her head towards Josh. "I'll catch up with you later." 

"I shiver with anticipation," Josh growled. 

The Ambassador and Donna made their way through the crowd, ending up strategically at the bar, Josh observed. From his vantage point. Moments later, Josh saw Sam zigging and zagging through the crowd until he reached his friend's side. 

"So Leo brought Mallory as his escort?" Josh asked, keeping one eye on Sam and the other on Donna. 

"Yeah, Margaret strong armed him, I think," Sam replied, noting too that Marbury was at the bar and seeing Mallory gravitate to his circle of listeners. "Something about softening his image for the press. I don't know." 

"She giving you the third degree for a new reason or one of the many old ones?" 

"I don't quite know," Sam replied. "I gave her a compliment and the next thing I knew I was getting a lecture about the education lobby... I think." 

"So you're gonna ask her out again," Josh observed, keeping his eyes focused on the Ambassador and his blond companion.. 

"Probably," Sam said, looking in the same direction with equal attention. "I see we've been graced by the presence of the diplomatic corps answer to Benny Hill." 

"We didn't beat those people soundly enough in the Revolution, you know that," Josh snarled. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "We were too easy on them, if you ask me." 

"Look at it this way," Josh said, his gaze sharpening as Marbury's arm eased around Donna's waist. "Within half an hour there will be some crisis that needs our attention or Lord Fumbly over there will be three sheets to the wind and hitting on CJ. Should be a good distraction either way." 

"No doubt," Sam said as he watched Mallory grinning at the Ambassador. "Do you see how she's just gushing over him?" 

"I knew it!" Josh proclaimed as he stared at Donna. "So you see it too?" 

"How could I miss it?" Sam replied. "It's disgusting." 

"Revolting," Josh concurred as he watched Donna's coyly put a hand to her lips as she twittered with laughter. "I mean, what does she see in him?" 

"He's arrogant," Sam stated. 

"He's obnoxious," Josh affirmed. 

"He's overbearing." 

"He's overrated." 

"He certainly thinks he's better than anyone else," Sam fumed. 

"And he's no gentleman, regardless of what she thinks," Josh said. "He's pretentious." 

"How can she not see what a phone he is?" Sam asked. 

"And the way he looks at her," Josh said disgusted at Marbury's display. "How can she not be insulted?" 

"He's eyeing her like a hungry animal," Sam scoffed. "That's..... offensive." 

"He used the word ravishing," Josh said hotly. "Can you believe that? And then she giggled like she was 16. She's met high-ranking officials before. What's the big deal with this guy?" 

"She's been to important functions like this before," Sam agreed. "Why does he command all that attention?" 

"It's embarrassing the way she's fawning over him," Josh said. 

"Ludicrous," Sam said as Marbury's other hand moved to Mallory's arm. 

"You two look serious," Leo said as he approach them. "Should I expect trouble?" 

"No," Sam said. "Not at all." 

"Prince Valiant is making his presence known," Josh nodded over to the bar. "We were just… observing." 

"And thinking of ways to kill him and getting away with it," Sam added. 

"I don't suppose there's some way to get the Secret Service to stuff him in a coat closet somewhere… like, say, at the Watergate maybe?" Josh asked. 

"If there was, I'd have done it already," Leo huffed. 

"That's it," Sam stated after seeing Marbury whisper in Mallory's ear. "I've gotta save her." 

"How?" Josh asked as Sam stormed towards the bar. 

"He's going to break up Marbury and Mallory, looks like," Leo observed. 

"Where's Mallory?" 

"Over with Marbury," Leo said. "I thought you were observing." 

Sam arrived at the bar and began speaking with the trio. He smiled at the Ambassador, then leaned in and spoke with Mallory. Seconds later, he led her out onto the dance floor. 

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Leo groaned. 

"She's safer with Sam," Josh remarked. 

"Don't be too sure," he shot back. 

"I feel bad for Donna," Josh said. 

"Well, Josh, look at it this way," Leo said as they watched Marbury escort Donna to the dance floor. "Your assistant is having a good time, even though it's with the lunatic." 

"What's that got to do with anything?" 

"Normally, you've got her working at these events," Leo said. "I'm saying it's about time that she got to enjoy herself." 

"Well, enjoy has some narrow bounds," Josh seethed. "And I'm not sure Lord Wandering Hands there knows what they are." 

Josh's eyes narrowed and a scowl crossed his face as the Ambassador leaned in to whisper in Donna's ear, causing her to blush. 

"Like that," he said shortly. 

"He's harmless, Josh," Leo said. 

"You didn't seem to think so a minute ago." 

"That's because he was with my daughter." 

"Well, she's my…" Josh sputtered. 

"Assistant," Leo interjected. 

"Right," he agreed. "But I'm responsible for her." 

"What are you, her father?" Leo teased. 

"No, but her father did ask that I look out for her," Josh remembered. "I think this might fall into the area he was talking about." 

"Josh," Leo admonished. "Donna's a grown woman. She can take care of herself; she knows what she's doing and she'll be fine." 

"Leo, you don't know Donna like I do," Josh said. "She's… impressionable. She… has the worst taste in men and a track record that, frankly, should have taught her a stern lesson about her ability to judge a person's character but somehow did not." 

"I'm not saying that she's gonna run off and marry the guy," Leo said. 

"She's not going anywhere with him," Josh growled. 

"Don't be too sure," Leo pointed to Marbury as he led Donna off the dance floor and towards the balcony. 

"Where are they going?" Josh asked. 

"What do I look like, The Amazing Kreskin? 

Josh started forward. He was not going to let him take her... anywhere. He was two steps into his mission when Leo grabbed his arm and hauled him back. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. 

Before he could answer, his pager and Josh's went off and Leo's cell chirped. Both turned to their devices. A tense moment insued. Josh looked up and spoke first. 

"Judge Rayburn was just on CNN," Josh said, invoking the name of the lead counsel for the special prosecutor investigating the President and his alleged illegal cover-up of his health status. Leo nodded, indicating that his call was giving him the same information. "I don't know what he said, but you can bet it wasn't good." 

"It wasn't," Leo scowled as he ended his call. "Okay, we need..." 

"CJ in your office in two minutes," Josh said moving forward. "We'll be there. I'll..." 

"Get the others," Leo said, finishing his sentence as his deputy disappeared into the sea of people. "Another evening shot to hell." 

*****************   
The hours slipped past with senior staff members juggling phone calls between the White House Counsel's office, party leadership and news organizations. While CJ tangoed with the group in the press room, Leo sent the others to help her put out the flames. Josh was sent to the CNN studios and was the last to return. He was, however, the first to discover the second prong of Rayburn's attack. An hour after that discovery, he was seated again in his office. The quivers of abject rage had subsided and the sharp and stabbing thoughts of a proportionate response were darting through his mind.   
  
It was in the middle of this thorny, quiet session that Donna peaked her head around the edge of his door beaming. She entered the office, still floating on her cloud of euphoria. 

"Hi!" 

"Huh?" 

"I said hi," she repeated as she twirled like a dance step and settled gracefully into a chair. "Where have you been all evening?" 

"Here," Josh replied tersely. "Where the hell have you been?" 

"At the party," she smiled. "Oh, Josh, you wouldn't believe..." 

"I probably wouldn't care either," he snapped. 

"You can be grumpy all you like," she said. "I had the best time. I got to meet them, Josh." 

"Lawrence Rayburn went on CNN tonight and said they're looking at expanding the investigation." 

"What?" Donna said, snapping out of her trance. 

"Who do you meet?" 

"Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip," she answered, a sinking feeling forming in her stomach. "Why are they expanding the investigation?" 

"Oh I don't know," Josh said harshly. "Maybe because they're looking to sink the administration; 'cause its an election year; or maybe just because the special prosecutor can pretty much do whatever he wants!" 

"Don't shout." 

"It's my office!" he yelled. "I can shout if I want to! Where the hell were you?" 

"I was being introduced to the queen and her husband." Donna said, trying to remember the excitement of that moment to stem the anxiety that was radiating off Josh like heat from the pavement in August. "She said I was delightful." 

"Yeah," he said. "Delightful and derelict in your duties." 

"Why didn't you come find me?" 

"What makes you think I had the time?" he asked, refusing to meet her eyes. His own were dark with anger and the angry dimple shone like a beacon, warning all who came near that the could lose their head if they did not tread lightly--and perhaps even if they did. 

"I didn't have time to make you curb your social life," Josh continued. "I was too busy running across town to do some spin control and manage the phones in trying to convince some important people that we are not sunk.... yet. And then, to top it all off, I finished my evening in grand fashion...." 

"What happened?" she asked trepidaciously. 

"They subpoenaed me in the parking lot, Donna!" he shouted. "You know how I love being subpoenaed! Two hours after Rayburn hit the air we got nailed _again_. This was a strike; it was strategic and because we had that stupid thing in there we never saw it coming! We got bitch-slapped during prime time!" 

"Josh, I'm sorry." 

He slammed his head back into the cushion of his chair and sighed forcefully. 

"You're sorry?" he remarked with strategic and eerie calm. "Oh, well that helps. Thanks. Really." 

"What do you want me to say?" she asked defensively. 

"They waited until we had our guard down," he seethed, oblivious to her question. "Those insidious bastards! It's a State Dinner for Christ's sake!" 

"I'm sorry that you got subpoenaed," she said when he finally looked in her direction again. "Thank you for being your _polite_-self in accepting my apology." 

"We got blind-sided," he said as he kicked one of the drawers of his desk. 

"Who do you want me to call?" 

"Call Rayburn and tell him to leave us alone." 

"Okay," she nodded and lifted the phone. 

"Donna." 

She put the phone down, pleased to note the decibels had left his voice and some of the ire had drained from his expression. It confirmed what she expected. He was not angry with her--not especially at least. It was the events of the evening that were prickling his sensibilities. 

"I'll sit with you," she offered as she slipped off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her in the chair. 

"That'll be helpful," Josh said kicking his feet onto his desk and sighing forcefully. 

Donna sat quietly to await Phase Two of the conversation. As Josh had not dismissed her, she knew there was more coming. After a moment, she was rewarded for her patience. 

"We're having a meeting tomorrow--the senior staff--you gotta be there for at least part of it," he said eventually. 

"Why?" 

"You were the first assistant let into the loop," Josh said. "Toby gets to answer for that, but that's not your concern. Babish is going to speak to you, but I'll tell you the gist of it now. Avoid strangers. Someone says your name, unless you know the voice, don't turn around, don't answer them." 

"Right. When am I meeting with Babish again?" 

"Tomorrow morning with the rest of us," Josh said. "I don't know all the details yet. Leo's meeting with Oliver now. We figure Rayburn's gonna serve you soon, too. We don't know what they want, and we need to get a clue before they ask any questions." 

"Okay," she agreed, feeling a knot of nervousness form in her middle. "Guess I won't be wearing heels for quite some time."   
  
"This is no joke, Donna," Josh said. 

"I haven't laughed yet." 

"Neither have I," he brooded. "Look, you're gonna be served. Let's just buy some time. Restrict your social life if you can and be aware of who is around you whenever you leave or enter the building." 

_ What social life?_ she though. _My social life revolves around this office and my work area. And 9 times out of 10 I either enter or leave the building with you, so...___

"And we aren't going to be seen together coming and going now," he said as though reading her thoughts. "You'll need to alter your schedule a little. Nothing drastic, but if they know you can be found beside me, then it makes their jobs easier--and I have no intention of giving them that luxury. Besides, if you duck them when you're with me, it hoists a new veil of impropriety. It either looks like I'm guarding you or that I'm obstructing the investigation." 

"Aren't you just by telling me this?" Donna ventured, pleased that he was in his tutorial frame of mind again. 

"Well, yeah, but this is legal," Josh explained. "It's all part of the game. I'm just giving you a run through of the ground rules and our strategy. Also, walk through the press area every couple days, just say a quick hi--so that it doesn't look like we're hiding you some place. All the assistants are gonna be told the same thing. Don't strike up a conversation of any substance, just say hi and make yourself seen. That way it looks like Rayburn's people are just being petty when they slam us to the press about this thing. The press can say 'you can't find 'em but we seem them roaming around every day.' Like I said, we know you're gonna get served; we just need to play defense for a little while and buy some time--a couple days should do it. And as for not being seen with me, I thought you'd appreciate that bonus." 

"Well, I'm sure I'll appreciate that eventually," Donna sighed. 

"You couldn't get away fast enough tonight," Josh observed. 

"That was different." 

"Well, if its pretentious accents you're into, Rayburn has a soft Georgia drawl that apparently even tickled Lincoln's fancy...." 

"Lord Marbury is not pretentious," Donna chimed in. "He's charming." 

"Snakes are," Josh replied. "He's an absolute reprobate, according to his ex-wives--notice the plural there," Josh said. 

"I was treated like a princess tonight," Donna smiled. "All you ever do is stick me in a corner at these things. Tonight I got to have a ball. I can say I was Cinderella, only I didn't lose my shoe and my car didn't turn into a pumpkin... a lemon, maybe, but not a pumpkin." 

"Cinderella?" Josh repeated. "They sent birds to pluck out the stepsister's eyes at the end of the real story, you know. Hardly a civilized end." 

"I like the Disney ending better." 

"Well, life does not have a Disney plot, Donna." 

"Josh, I was treated.. .like I mattered," she sighed. "I felt welcomed and adored and... special." 

"You're.... wanted here," he relented. "I don't treat you like you don't matter. I give you more responsibility than any other assistant in this building. That's trust, Donna. And trust is a hell of a lot more important than feeling adored." 

"Sometimes a women needs to feel that way," she informed him. "That's how I know you know nothing about woo. I know how much you trust me, Josh. That means a lot to me. But tonight, I... I wasn't just Josh Lyman's assistant. I was Donnatella Moss. I got to dance with royalty. Someday I'll be able to tell my children that." 

"They'll hang on your every word, I'm sure," he said while rolling his eyes. "Their mother danced with a second rate cad who inherited his title from his rake of a father. How can you think like that? You're always Donnatella Moss. In fact, I'd argue that if you don't feel that way normally, then perhaps you've got a bigger issue to deal with. And you're right. I have no clue how it   
feels to be you, but I can tell you that I'd rather have someone trusts me implicitly than adore me." 

"Deputy Downer returns," she said, her lips pressing together to form a tight while line. 

"Fine," he said dismissively. "But this is what got me where I am. Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House. In my view of things, that's better than royalty. You say I push you into corners, but I don't see that. In fact, I don't know what you want from me, Donna. I don't fawn over your every word. I don't make tired, hackneyed comparisons about stars and your eyes. I treat you as a colleague, and you get the respect that such a position deserves. If that's not good enough, well then so be it. I can't stand that man and watching you with him.... well, it was frankly pathetic." 

_Sounds like jealousy_, she thought and fought a losing fight with a smirk. It sprawled across her lips and even invaded her bight blue eyes. 

"I don't expect anything like that from you," Donna said. "If you ever acted that way, I'd have you committed. Lord Marbury is unique. Okay, he's way out in left field. But, Josh. I'd never be remotely interested in anyone like that. It's just harmless flirting. If he ever came near me, I'd throw him off the Truman balcony." 

"You could have fooled me." 

"I've been with the likes of him before, I'm never doing it again." 

"But you did tonight," he noted. 

"I was not with him," she argued. "Not like that. I wanted to meet the queen. And the only way to do that was..." 

"Throw yourself at the Sheriff of Knottingham?" 

"I did not throw myself at him." 

"The giggling, the blushing," Josh said, the angry dimple appearing again, making her smirk grow wider. "Donna, I mean really." 

"He's quit witty," she said, stoking his mood for her pleasure. Josh might be a gifted politician, but Sam was right, he had the world's worst poker face. 

"I don't want to talk about him anymore!" 

"Okay," she relented. "Look, you want help with the thing? 'Cause I can change." 

"I doubt that," Josh said, his own smirk appearing. "We did what we can do tonight. I've gotta meet with the President when he's done with his guests. You can go home." 

"Yippee!" she exclaimed as she slipped back into her shoes. "Home to an empty apartment with a server camped out on my doorstep. I tell you, if that's not the ending to a perfect evening, I don't know what is." 

"I told you, that's how all fairy tales really end." 

"You know since I met you my life has changed in oh-so-many ways," she said. 

"And you don't thank me enough, you know that?" 

"You're a joy," she remarked. 

"I am quite the ray of sunshine, aren't I?" he said as he stood and followed her out of his office and started toward the Oval Office. Before they parted company, he turned back to speak to her. "Hey, you looked good tonight, by the way." 

She smiled and felt her cheeks grow warm. She nodded and thanked him. 

"At the thing in July, you did your hair different," he said. "Made your outfit look different." 

"You noticed?" she asked, slightly shocked. " I... I didn't think..." 

"Of course you didn't," he said with a shrug as he walked away then called over his shoulder. "The meeting's at nine tomorrow, so be here no later than seven." 

"Okay."   


**_Up next, Chapter 12..._**


	12. Aloha

qchap12 **Title**: **THE QUEST:** **_ Aloha _**(Chapter 12)   
**Authors**: **__**Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Date**: August 4, 2001   
**Webpage**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com   


The first two weeks of December blew by as fast as the harsh, icy winter wind that whipped through the bare cherry trees. No one in the DC area had seen the sun during that time frame, and the gloomy skies made everyone feel crass and bitter; no where was this more evident than in the attitude of the senior staff. 

Judge Rayburn was serving subpoenas with the precision of an expert marksman destroying his clay targets. Josh was served the night of the State Dinner; CJ's turn came immediately after Wednesday's two o'clock briefing. Leo and Toby got theirs at the same time as they left the Hill, and Sam received his document as he was picking up coffee from the shop around the corner from his apartment. 

One by one the White House staffers were feeling the sting from Rayburn. Donna wondered when her turn would arrive. Her meeting with Babish went fine. He told her not to take any extreme measures. She would be served--it was a fact no one was going to argue. What Babish needed was time to figure out what they were going to ask her. She met with him on two more occasions and answered more questions than she ever dreamed. What surprised her most was what she wasn't asked about: the President's illness. She was asked that once by the White House Counsel and then the discussion turned to something she knew quite a lot more about: her boss. Josh never asked her how her discussions with Babish went--she had little doubt he was informed in some way. 

He had grown more quiet and gloomy clouds seem to appear in his disposition. The holidays were given to spawning depression in many, Donna knew, but never Josh. But that didn't mean it could not happen. She was acutely aware that it was only a year earlier that she had gone to Leo to divulge her bone deep worries that something was desperately wrong with Josh. He had bounced back remarkably, she thought. That was until the previous May when everyone in the office was hit with the President's near-crippling news. Like the others, he was energized after the press conference when the President astounded everyone by announcing he would run again. There was even discussion that they would win again. But Babish's meetings brought everyone back to the ground. Since her final discussion with him--the longest and, Donna felt, the most intrusive into her private knowledge of Josh--her pace had quickened, and she was looking over her shoulder. She wasn't deviating from her daily routine, and she was following the instructions that Josh had given her to the letter. But there was a new and sickly feeling of worry in her stomach for the moment she would face the Inquisitors. They would do everything possible to drag down the President and hang his staff beside him 

All this made for a tricky Christmas shopping season for Donna. Getting into the spirit was as difficult as finding the courage to venture out into the stores. She finally broke down and did the unthinkable: shopping on-line. It was so impersonal, and she felt ashamed for doing it--especially for her family's gifts. She made up for it, though, with detailed and personalized Christmas greetings in cards that were to accompany each gift she was to ship. And, with the extra time she had from not leaving home or the office, she found ample opportunity to do these masterful writings. 

She even managed to get some of it done at work. She was working on the inscription to a book for her young nephew one lunch hour when Josh happened by with nothing to do. 

"Dr. Seuss?" he remarked, picking up one of the set of books she was shipping home for the baby. "Broadening your intellectual horizons?" 

"It's for Tad," she said. 

"Blind date?" 

"My nephew, actually," she said. "He's probably better company than most of the men I've dated recently." 

"I see no reason to disagree with that," Josh said. 

"The difference between most men and Tad is that he's entitled to be a baby because... well, he is one," she said with a knowing grin. 

As she spoke, she shot an accusing look in Josh's directly. He either did not notice or refused to acknowledge the expression. He was looking at the book when Toby rounded the corner. 

"I need a moment," the speech writer said and walked into Josh's office. 

When Josh did not immediately follow him, Toby poked his head around the corner to see Josh sporting a curious expression as he stared into the open book. 

"Is the Children's Book of the Month Club meeting over?" Toby asked. 

"What?" Josh replied, looking at Toby as though it was the first time he realized someone else was there. 

"I hate to break up whatever review you're giving Donna or vice versa," Toby continued. "Unfortunately, I have this little thing called Congress to deal with and thought you might like to help since it's allegedly both your job and your specialty." 

"Yeah." 

Josh placed the book back on Donna's desk; the odd expression fading from his face, but a shadow of it lingered in his eyes. Donna had seen that look before several times--each followed by some flash of intuitive (if at times questionable) thinking that was quintessential Josh Lyman. She was disappointed Toby had interrupted what would surely be one of their most lively discussions in months. However, she kept to her task as Josh walked into his office and closed the door. 

***************** 

Josh and Toby's discussion, like many they had held since December appeared, was loud and contentious and left both men with evil clouds looming over their heads. Donna was concerned about the abrupt silence that that emanated from the Deputy Chief of Staff's Office. She planned her own recon effort for the following day if something did not change. 

Luckily, the following afternoon, she was making her way back to her desk from her weekly traipse through the press area when she heard a welcomed sound. 

"DONNA!" 

"Music to my ears," she grinned as she swung by her desk, grabbed a pen and pad and entered Josh's office. 

"DONNA!" he yelled again. 

"My you have such a sweet singing voice," she quipped as she sat down. 

"What took you so long?" he asked. "Were you…?" 

"No," Donna assured him. "I was doing my walk through and was on my way back when you bellowed." 

"I don't bellow. I raised the inflection in my voice." 

"What do you need?" 

Josh dug through a pile of papers and pulled out a folder. "I've got an assignment for you." 

"Only one?" Donna smirked. 

"Yeah, but it'll keep you busy. You're scheduled to fly out on the 17th and return on the 21st." 

"I'm flying somewhere?" 

"Yeah." 

"On the 17th… of this month?" she asked. 

"That's what the plane ticket says," he replied. 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No," she said firmly. "Josh, that's in two days! A year ago, I asked for the 17th off; you agreed. I have it written down--you even signed it! You cannot, you cannot back out now!" 

"Not even if I tell you that the assignment's in Hawaii?" Josh offered. 

"I can't believe you," Donna fumed, oblivious to his question. "I haven't had a day off in… I can't remember. I demand…" 

"Here it comes." 

"Hawaii?" Donna asked as Josh's comment finally sunk in. "Hawaii? Our fiftieth state? The island state?" 

"Unless they suddenly changed Oklahoma's name, then yes," he smirked. 

"We're going to Hawaii? Josh this is fabulous." 

"We're not going," Josh clarified. "Just you. Hence the reason I've been saying you instead of us." 

"You're not going?" Donna asked as a twinge of disappointment crept into her voice. 

"No," Josh said. "Basically it's a low level DNC thing. I don't have time to be there; I also don't want to be there, but I need to be so, I'm sending you. You're going there to take notes for me." 

"Okay, so I'm dreaming, but I still don't understand why you're not going." 

"Have you been conscious for the last few weeks?" Josh asked sharply, then sighed and softened his tone. "Donna, Rayburn's got us scrambling like the rug rats that come here for the Easter Egg hunt. The Republicans want to hang the President in effigy and we need to..." 

"I know," she said solemnly. 

"Plus the process server will have a tougher time finding you," he added. "Bonus for us. Not real victory, but screw 'em. We'll take what we can get lately." 

"Hey, I didn't think of that," she smiled. "Josh, sometimes you can be…" 

"Donna," he moaned as he rubbed his eyes. 

"Okay, just for that tone in your voice I'm not bringing you back a souvenir," she teased. "You're on my bad list now." 

"My heart's breaking," he smirked. "All I want are those notes. And no chicken scratch. Even more serious people are going to be reading this, so take a laptop with you." 

"For the last time, my penmanship is distinctive," Donna rose from the chair. "But even with your negative aura, you're still so sweet." 

"Out." 

The rest of the week sped by and Donna was feeling half-nervous/half-excited to be going. This was an honest to God assignment; an assignment that a senior staff member would normally go on. Donna jokingly referred to herself as 'Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff,' but she never thought that she would pull such an assignment. The Kick-Off Celebration was one thing, but this? Never in her wildest dreams had she thought of representing Josh at anything. Granted, he had told her to not speak to anyone about anything regarding him, his position, his thoughts, his job, etc. Still, she knew he trusted her; he had also just shown her how much he believed in her. 

***************** 

The White House was dark and quiet as Donna traveled the halls on her way to Josh's office. The first waves of people were entering the building. Donna wanted to say her good-bye to Josh before her 6:45 am flight out of Dulles took off. She tried calling him at his apartment and after getting his machine surmised that she would find him where she left him the night before: at his desk. 

Donna quietly stepped into his office to see his head lying on his blotter. He was fast asleep. 

"Josh." 

No movement came from the desk. 

"Joshua," Donna said a little louder. 

Still, nothing. 

Donna walked over to the phone and punched in a series of numbers, then hung up. Seconds later, the sharp trill of Josh's pager sounded. 

Josh's head immediately shot up… and into the lamp on his desk as the chirping device tumbled from his grasp. 

"Ow!" 

"Oh, good, you're up," Donna said casually. 

"You're fired." 

"And that's a fine way to tell your assistant to have a safe flight," she said. 

"That's today?" he asked, not sure if the pounding headache he felt was the remnant from the beers he had with Sam last night or from the lamp. 

"Yes," she nodded. "It's on your schedule. Bonnie will be covering for me while I'm away. Don't have a panic attack; I cleared it with Toby two days ago. I had to do some smooth talking, but I just told him that it was either take one of his assistants or deal with Cranky Josh." 

"I am never cranky," he defended. 

"Whatever," she sighed. "I just wanted to say a quick good-bye before I left." 

"Oh, okay," he said. 

"Josh?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks again for letting me go on this assignment. I really appreciate it." 

"Uh, you're welcome," Josh said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Do you need a ride to the airport?" 

"No, I've got my car," she said as she checked her watch. "I've gotta head out." 

"Call me when you land." 

"I will," she smiled. "I've left copies of your schedule taped to your computer, your door and my computer. Plus Bonnie said she'll look out...." 

"I can handle it," he insisted. 

"Right," Donna agreed. "Don't forget the thing with Leo the day after tomorrow. They moved the time to 6 a.m." 

"I'm only half as incompetent as you make it seem," he reminded her then groped around his desk. 

"You knocked on the floor on the other side," Donna said airily as she breezed out of the office. 

Josh shook his head as a smirk curled the corners of his mouth as watched her retreat before he got down on the floor to find his pager. 

********************* 

"I thinks it's past time we got serious about this thing," Toby said, rubbing his brow.   
  
The meeting was stretching into its first hour with the sun bleeding into the room as morning slowly arrived. Leo, ever tireless, was looking weary after playing more of a referee role than that of team captain. Toby was finding it hard to keep his tone and volume civil. It wasn't easy, he felt. The stress of the task ahead was weighty enough without adding the irreverence of Heckle and Jeckle sitting across the table from him. Sam's occasional offerings of less than productive assessments of the situation, and Josh's constant sighing and eye rolling left the lead speech writer's nerves threadbare. 

"Nobody here is playing around," Leo reminded him then quickly silenced the peanut gallery. "Don't say it, Josh." 

Josh shrugged. He wasn't comfortable with the reliance and deference Leo was showing Toby in these strategy sessions. It's not that he didn't think Toby was capable. He just didn't think Toby was more capable than he was. 

"It's time to take a swing," Toby said. 

"We already did," Josh pointed out. "We broke the story. Now, I say we leave it." 

"Funny, no one asked what you would say," Toby seethed. "I'm not going to sit back and let these people continue to paint us as conspirators. We need to put distance between us and this thing." 

"How is that not a conspiratorial stance?" Josh asked. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Call it what you want, Toby, but I think Josh is right," Sam said. "Obfuscate, distance, spin, whatever. Look, we can't duck and hide, and we can't run away from this. That would look cowardly. The polls show that yes, a considerable portion of the public is a bit..." 

"Pissed?" Josh offered. 

"I was going to say displeased," Sam continued, "that this was not disclosed previously. However, the fact that we brought it out, and we weren't under any immanent threat to do did us some good. We aren't seeing the benefits now...." 

"Really," Leo added flatly. 

"But we will," Sam said enthusiastically. "We just can't run from this. It's our thing." 

"It's his thing," Josh sighed and lowered his head. As the silence filled the room, he raised his eyes to see three stern faces. He sat back in his chair and stared back. 

"It's his thing," Josh said. "We have to deal with it." 

"Do we need to talk?" Leo asked harshly. 

Josh said nothing. Toby took that moment to get back to his point. 

"We know what works," Toby said diplomatically, looking at Leo rather than either deputy. "I've laid out two scenarios--both of which I'm certain you will agree are feasible. We need to pick one and stick to it. Now..." 

"We can't fight this," Josh said heatedly. "Toby, it's in our face, and we don't have the space to steady ourselves to swing back. Not yet." 

"Didn't I just hear one of you two brain trusts just say..." 

"Toby," Leo growled. 

"Just say," Toby continued, "that duck and cover wouldn't work?" 

"That's right," Josh agreed. "It won't. That's not what we need to do." 

"You want a full frontal assault?" Leo asked incredulously. 

"No," Josh said simply. 

"What else is there?" Sam asked, his interest piqued and ideas churning in his head in a way they hadn't since the previous May when Leo and the President dropped a bomb in his lap one evening. 

"I guess it's the Theodore Gisel theory of political science," Josh shrugged as the words tumbled out of his mouth. He had been turning the idea over and over again in his head since the day he watched Donna wrap her nephew's gifts. 

"Say again?" Leo asked. 

"Marvin K. Mooney will you please go now?" Sam ventured, a sly smile appearing on his face. 

"There it is," Josh nodded. 

"No," Toby said instantly and jumped to his feet. 

"I don't get it," Leo said dropping back into his chair. "Hell, I don't think I want to." 

"It's a Dr. Seuss story about Marvin K. Mooney," Sam began to explain. "See, everyone wants him to leave but..." 

"Sam, I could kill you right now for pleasure," Toby cut him off fuming as he began to pace the room. "Leo, this is not the time to try some hopelessly simple, certainly untested and frankly too contrived plot hatched by Josh while bickering with his assistant over children's literature!"   
  
"As far as this issue is concerned, I think it's the only thing we can do right now," Josh insisted. "I'm not saying do this forever. I agree we need a plan. They're going to expect us to swing. They're ready for us to swing. Let's take them out of their stance. This is our change up pitch, Toby. Let's make this thing, as far as we're concerned up front, a non-issue. It's history now. Let it be. We don't pick it up and do anything with it until they do." 

"They're doing it now," Leo pointed out. 

"No, they're not," Josh said. "They've been countering us. Let it shift to them. Leo, listen to me. The scenarios are this. One, they blister us; we can take that because we've anticipated that so we've got the counter measures. Two, they come at us subtly to undermine us; we can bat that back just as subtly and this turns into a protracted political tennis match--the odds are with us that we'll win that one because we'll have weathered the storm. Three, they wait for our next pro-active move. So I gotta ask, what if we do nothing?" 

The quiet filled the room again. It was different than the silence of a moment earlier. This one was introspective. Leo turned the idea over in his head while Toby shook any further consideration of it from his. Sam nodded then spoke. 

"It might buy us some time," Sam said. "Maybe only a day or two, but by then something else is bound to grab the headlines. Once a thing gets knocked below the fold once, it takes something big to punch it back up. There's nothing bigger to this is there? Is there?" 

"No," Leo said firmly then said it again because he needed to. "There's not." 

He looked into their faces only the most minuscule shade of doubt was evident. However, that there was any at all was a sign Leo did not like, but he had lived with it for the previous seven months. 

"The public is not going to forget this thing is here just because Peter Jennings doesn't lead with it or it isn't the first thing Bill O'Reilly shrieks about on a Wednesday evening," Toby seethed. 

"They're gonna appreciate the change of pace," Sam said. "People get weary. Toby, they are as sick of this thing as we are." 

"They still tune in and it still matters to them," Toby reminded him. 

"But how nice it is to get a day or two of reprieve," Josh pointed out. "Break the cycle and people will notice. They might appreciate it. They might get bored more quickly with this thing." 

"What color is the sky in your world, Josh?" Toby asked. 

"It's dark, Toby," Josh said coldly. "It's very, very dark, and it scares the hell out of me. We need a moment's reprieve, and this is the only chance I can see. We can't wait for some national or international tragedy. History is made by moments like this. Our future is hung on this moment. If we can force even slightest pause in this tirade it could be enough..." 

"Could be?" Toby shouted. 

"We need to spin this so that any retaliation we get from the GOP will look like desperation," Sam said. "I know it's not the most brilliant political strategy, but I agree with Josh." 

"Toby, I think this is all we've got," Josh added. "It's all I've got at least. What you're suggesting, I can tell you it won't work." 

"They might do all three," Toby pointed out. "Your three, simplistic and I think cursory, assessments of our opponent's tactics could all hit us at once." 

"They can't," Josh said. "They'll either come at us or they'll wait." 

"They'll come at us," Toby said confidently. 

"Not without a strategy," Sam offered. "We do something they don't expect, they'll want to check it out before their next move." 

"Our next move is no move at all?" Leo asked skeptically. 

He looked at Josh, not sure of the sanity behind the concept. Then again, he wasn't so sure about the sanity of its author, but he'd laid a long shot wagers on his deputy before and was paid off. 

"Yeah," Josh said with a casual nod. 

"Are you nuts?" Leo asked. 

"Yeah," his deputy said, offering his hand to be shaken. "Josh Lyman. We've met before." 

"Leo, we should consider this," Sam said enthusiastically. "No offense, Toby, but if we get defensive--even if we think it's playing offense--we look like we're scrambling to get our balance. We need to look confident and solid." 

"It'll look arrogant," Toby said. 

"So be it," Josh replied. "We've earned that right. I don't think that's how it will look, but if it does, so what. Arrogance isn't such a bad thing." 

"It's done you a world of good," Toby snapped. 

"I agree that we can't look desperate, and we can't look as though we are out of control," Leo agreed. "I'm not sure what I think about this idea. You want me to pitch to the President that his top guys want to let allegedly calm and decidedly stubborn heads prevail?" 

"Beijing, 1990," Josh said. "Guy stands in front of a tank. Was he going to stop it? Come on! Guy was crazy to try that. But how many Americans did that impress?" 

"We can't do nothing," Toby said hammering his point home again.   
  
Josh stood from his seat and approached Toby, who was standing near the wall. The deputy placed himself inches from the speech writer, standing fore square in his way and looked back at him with an unreadable expression. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Toby asked, the frustration evident in his voice and from the redness rising in his cheeks. 

"I'm standing here until you make me move," Josh said simply. 

"What?" Toby asked incredulously. 

The stand off lasted roughly another minute. Leo watched the two men stare back at each other. Toby's gaze growing more pointed, and Josh's remaining eerily neutral. Neither moved a muscle, twitched and eyebrow or even blinked. Toby finally sighed forcefully and stepped to the side, away from Josh. 

"That's enough," Leo said. "Josh you made your point." 

"What point?" Toby asked. 

"You didn't push him," Sam said. "You stood there and did nothing, just like Josh. He bought a minute of nothingness just by not making a move." 

"This is the only thing I know right now," Josh sighed as he turned and leaned his back flat against the wall where Toby formerly stood. "I don't think we have anywhere else to go." 

"You can't force a stalemate!" Toby argued. "Josh, your idea is as creative and innovative as it is childish and asinine! We're not doing it." 

"When did you decide?" 

"Hey," Leo said, stepping in between the two men. "Everyone needs to take a step back and remind themselves that we are allegedly grown men who are supposed to conduct themselves in a civilized manner, especially considering we are 10 feet from the Oval Office. And if that doesn't do it for you, I'll ground both of you." 

Josh looked away. Toby stared at the carpet. Sam sat in his chair and felt invisible. The typing from the outer office had ceased signally Margaret was keeping a sensitive ear to the proceedings. 

"Toby?" Leo asked, deferring to him first, much to Josh's chagrin. 

"It's political suicide," Toby said. "We've been on the verge for months, and this is the 'good bye cruel world' of that process." 

Leo nodded and considered the words before turning to Josh. He inquired as to his final thoughts on the matter. 

"Leo, it's not pretty, and it's not elegant, and it's... it's not a lot of things," Josh said, sinking his hands into his pockets as his shoulders drooped. "It won't get us a win, but I'm telling you that it might be the only thing that gives us that breather we need. Without it, we don't even get in the race."   


********************* 

The island breeze gently flew through Donna's platinum locks as she walked toward the entrance of her hotel. The afternoon meetings had been canceled and Donna wanted to let Josh know during her daily check-in session. She had expected to be bombarded with calls from him from the moment she arrived. She was pleased and disappointed when that did not happen. He was managing without her, but she wasn't sure how well. After 48 hours away from him, she thought it was time she inquired into that. She entered the lobby of the Hilton Hawaiian and headed for the front desk. 

"Any messages for Room 843?" she asked the young desk clerk. 

When the clerk said that no messages were left for her, she thanked him and went to her room. Donna effortlessly swiped her keycard in the door and entered. 

"I don't see why Josh has such a difficult time with these things," she said to herself. "A three year old could do it. Then again, this is Josh." 

Donna placed her bag in the chair, picked up the phone and dialed the office. 

After several dozen rings to the office, Donna tried his cell. When that didn't work, she tried his pager - twice. After not getting an answer from any piece of electronic device closely associated with Josh, she dialed the Communications Bullpen. 

"White House Communications." 

"Hey, Ginger, it's Donna. Any idea where Josh is?" 

"Oh, Donna," Ginger's voice lowered. "How are you? How's the trip?" 

"Fine," Donna said slowly. "Ginger, why are you whispering?" 

"Toby's on the warpath," she enlightened. "You missed a real knock down, drag out verbal assault between Josh and Toby. The meeting this morning apparently was ugly with a capital U. Sam's been running interference between them ever since." 

"Oh, no," Donna groaned. "Should be there?" 

"Trust me, Donna," Ginger said. "You don't want any part of this. Not only are they taking it out on each other, but also all of the assistants, even the messengers, get their heads taken off for just saying hello. It's brutal. You are the envy of everyone around here today." 

Donna stood silent for a few moments. She knew that thing between Josh and Toby hadn't been well since the staff was informed of the President's illness, even more so that Toby was the one who told her instead of Josh. The battle for the President's ear had always been somewhat friendly, at times a little heated, but never to this extreme. 

"Thanks for the information, Ginger," Donna said. "If you do run into him, let him know that I called." 

Donna hung up and stared at the phone. A pang of guilt went through her body. She should be there, if not to help, then to just listen as he blew off steam. Donna stilled worried about his PTSD, but not as much as she did after she went to Leo's office that fateful night two Decembers ago. Nonetheless, if Josh didn't have someone there to calm him down, there's no telling what he might do. 

Donna took a deep breath, reached into her bag and pulled out her laptop. This was her last resort to communicating with Josh, so she hooked the phone line in and fired off a quick email.   


**To**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov mailto:Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov>   
**From**: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov mailto:Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov>   
**Time**: 12:35   
**Subject**: Meetings   
- -ATTACHMENTS- - 

_Josh:___

_1) Attached are yesterday's notes from the morning and afternoon session. I will forward today's notes later today._   
_2) Afternoon meetings were canceled, so I'm going to go out and enjoy this one afternoon of freedom._   
_3) Called and got no answer. Heard from Ginger that things are not well. Sorry I'm not there._   
_4) Be home at 11:15 pm Thurs.___

_-D_

Resigned to the fact that there was nothing she could do five time zones away, Donna changed into comfortable clothes and decided to hit the local stores. 

******************* 

The sun was disappearing into the Pacific Ocean as Donna made her way back to the hotel. Armed with dozens of shopping bags, she had gotten gifts for her family and just about all the senior staff, except for Josh. She knew Josh wasn't into cheesy souvenirs designed to catch the average tourist visiting the islands. But, she wanted to get something special, to show him how much she appreciated this assignment, and after what she heard earlier that day, she felt he needed something. 

Donna was about to enter the elevator when she heard a familiar, yet out of place voice. 

"Donna? Donna Moss?" 

She turned to find Marilyn standing next to her. The general manager, clad in a turquoise tank and floral print skirt, smiled. 

"What are you doing here?" Marilyn asked. "How did you manage to get out of the Lyman grasp?" 

"Oh, Josh sent me out here for a DNC meeting. He couldn't go because of…" 

"Right," she nodded as they entered the elevator. "You don't need to say anything further. I don't want to be the next person on Rayburn's hit list." 

"Yes," Donna said. "What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, a couple of college friends and I go on vacation each year," Marilyn replied. "This year we decided to go to Hawaii. They're going to a club tonight, but that's not my thing. Hey, if you're able, let's grab something to eat. I'm in room 956." 

The elevator stopped at Donna's floor and she exited. "Um, let me see how things stand and I'll let you know." 

The ladies said their good-byes and Donna headed for her room. Upon entering, she set her bags on the floor and immediately went for her laptop. She was relieved to find a response from Josh.   


**To**: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov mailto:Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov>   
**From**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov mailto:Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov>   
**Date**: 18:58   
**Subject**: Re: DNC 

_Attachments received. Will read notes tonight. Nothing for you to concern yourself about me.___

_Stop by the office after flight lands..___

_--J_

Donna frowned after reading the brief response. It was a mixed bag of information, but it left her worried. No matter what he said, something was wrong. The message was brief--almost terse--and despite the over-bearing request to come into work at midnight after spending all day on a plane, the message did not contain no jabs about spending valuable time shopping rather than devoted to the tasks assigned. She had looked forward to at least one. That his mind was else where was more evident than ever. Donna closed her email and turned on the television, trying to distract herself from the problem that was thousands of miles away. The current commercial ended, and another one played starring Josh's favorite 'dude.' 

Suddenly, an idea struck Donna. 

She turned off the television and reached for the telephone. She dialed Room 956. 

"Hey, it's Donna. I think I'll take you up on your dinner offer. I've got something to ask you…"   


**Coming soon.... Chapter 13**


	13. A moment of silence, please

qchap13 The Quest: _In Memory_ (Chapter 13)   
Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
September 12, 2001   


**In honor of the friends, family, colleagues and innocent strangers killed and injured in yesterday's terrorist attacks, Chapter 13 of THE QUEST will be set aside. Please accept this offering as our moment of silence for all the victims and our special thanks to the firmen, policemen, emergency crews, medical personal and people at large who are dealing with this act of madness first hand.******

**The Quest will return it its publishing schedule shortly with Chapter 14: Auld Lang Syne.******

**Thank you to our many readers.******

**--_The Authors_**   



	14. Auld Lang Syne

qchap14 **Title**: **THE QUEST**, **_Auld Lang Syne_** (Chapter 14)   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwing247   
**Homepage**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com 

_Note: Chapter 13 was set aside as a "moment of silence" out of respect for friends and strangers killed or injured in the incidents of September 11, 2001. Thank you to everyone for being so understanding. Due to recent events, storyline The Quest has been slightly altered. We are nothing if not adaptable. All apologies for the delay in bringing this chapter to you. Because of the time it took and the patience of our fan base, we decided to make it double the size of previous chapters. We hope you enjoy the on-going saga._

  
Donna stood outside the restaurant waiting for Marilyn to arrive. Marilyn had telephoned to say she was running late, so Donna enjoyed the light island breeze while gazing at the full moon in the Pacific sky. She remembered her grandmother's stories at how a full moon was also called the lover's moon and that somewhere in the world your true love is staring up at the full moon in the same instant. Donna frowned and turned her sights toward the menu that was posted at the door. 

As she was debating on whether to get the chicken or the fish, she felt a hand on her elbow, coaxing her to turn around. 

"Hey Stacey," a male voice said as she turned around. As soon as the gentleman saw that it was not Stacey, he immediately let go. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he apologized. "I thought you were my friend's wife." 

"That's quite all right," Donna replied as she looked into the emerald green eyes of the stranger. "It's the hair. I have a very common hairstyle." 

"Let me assure you, I wasn't trying anything," he said. "I don't want your husband or boyfriend to get the wrong idea." 

"Oh, I'm not married," Donna said. "And that's not because I have anything against the institution of marriage. I mean, I don't believe in the subjugation of women that is the classic American male's view of marriage, which is not to say that I believe it should be reversed, but the look on your face now is telling me that I've answered your question more fully than you wanted." 

"Well, yes, but thank you anyway," the handsome stranger said offering Donna a warm and welcoming grin. "Are you here with anyone?" 

"If by that you mean, do I have particular gentleman with whom I am eating, then my answer would be no," Donna replied sporting broad grin of her own. 

Chatting with a good looking man in a restaurant and not being bowled over by a litany of his alleged accomplishments and opinions as to why she should forward his resume to the people she worked for was a refreshing change. She was liking Hawaii more and more each minute. She was warming to the idea of the conversation continuing when the cell phone in her purse chirped. With a quick scowl, she snatched the instrument out. 

"Is it an emergency?" she asked tersely. After receiving a meek "no," she dispatched the call. "Good, I'm busy. I'll call you later." 

Donna's grin returned instantly as she pictured the dumbfounded look on Josh's face thousands of miles away when the dial tone sounded in his ear. 

"Where were we?" Donna asked her visitor. "I feel like I've divulged too much information to you already, and I don't even know your name. I'd love to talk to you some more, but my mother taught me not to speak to strangers." 

"Well, let's not be strangers then," he smiled. "My name is Cliff Strauss." 

"Donna Moss. Pleasure meeting you, Cliff." 

"Same here. Are you here for business or pleasure?" 

"Business," Donna answered. "I'm here with…" 

Before Donna could continue, Marilyn joined the duo. 

"I am so sorry about that, Donna," Marilyn said, and then eyed the man standing next to her. "Did you dump me already? I was only five minutes late." 

"Oh, no," Donna answered. "It was just a case of mistaken identity. Marilyn, this is Cliff." 

"Pleasure," she replied, with a touch of ice in her voice. "Come on, Donna. I'm sure our table's ready." 

Donna and Cliff exchanged good-byes and the hostess showed the two women to their table. 

"Well, he seemed nice," Donna remarked as she sat down and perused the menu again. 

"Uh huh. So do ax murderers at first," Marilyn answered as she watched Cliff walk past them towards his dinner companions. "So, what is it that you wanted to ask me?" 

Donna proceeded to tell Marilyn of the idea that came to her earlier. As she was going through the details, the corners of Marilyn's mouth turned upward and eventually into a wide grin. 

"I think that can be arranged," Marilyn nodded. "As a matter of fact, I'm heading there on Saturday so, I'll work my magic." 

"Oh thank you," Donna smiled. "This is going to be great. Josh is going to love this." 

"He'll lose the power of speech," Marilyn said. "Please take a picture and detailed notes. SJ will want evidence." 

The waiter arrived and took their orders. The meal was amicable, though Donna kept expecting SJ to arrive to bolster Marilyn's stories. Not that the discussion without the writer wasn't lively. Marilyn's tales of baseball life were a welcomed departure from the mundane and at times dead-boring discussions she was listening to at the conference. The waiter had just cleared their dinner plates when suddenly Marilyn's cell squawked and interrupted the conversation. 

"Marilyn Rogers," she answered. "Yes, Brad… Are you serious? We get him for two minor leaguers? Which ones? Hey, hang on a second." 

Marilyn covered the mouthpiece and looked at Donna apologetically. "I'm sorry, but this is a trade that I've been waiting for and I have to take this. I really enjoyed dinner. Have a safe flight back and I'll see you later." 

Marilyn rose from her seat and returned to her caller as she made her way out of the restaurant. 

Donna sat back in her chair and sighed. She hoped that Marilyn would be able to get the item they discussed. She took a sip of coffee and noticed that Cliff was heading in her direction towards the exit as well. 

"Donna, I'm sorry again for the misunderstanding," he said. "I never do that sort of thing." 

"Really, Cliff," Donna answered. "You don't have to keep apologizing. I tell you what. I'll forgive you if you join me for coffee." 

Cliff smiled as he sat down across from Donna. "Oh, waiter..." 

***************** 

Donna checked her bags with the airline then glanced at her watch. There were still two hours before her flight was to leave the island paradise. She stifled a yawn and shook her head as a scolding for her late night. It was the second such one she had spent in the company of Clifford vonStrauss--the Virginia attorney she met at the hotel. He was a good break from her boring conference. Marilyn had left Hawaii the morning after she and Donna had dinner. Donna was glad for Cliff's company over dinner the next night, even if he was mostly a stranger. He was a good listener, a good speaker and not at all difficult to look at. 

However, he was gone now, too. Left alone in the busy airport, Donna was anxious to return to Washington to see what catastrophes--or in Josh's rendition, "minor issues"--had arisen since she departed. She was also eager to deliver the gifts she had purchased for members of the staff. They were small tokens mostly, but she felt so good about getting them. Whenever the staff traveled to far away places with the President, they returned with armloads of gifts given to them. This time, she was the one returning with the bounty. 

She was going to miss what little she had seen of the 50th state. It was as beautiful as she had dreamed. The warm air, the lush foliage, and the vibrant colors everywhere. Donna sighed contentedly until her cell shrieked and broke her blissful trance. 

"Hello," she answered. 

"Come to the office after you land." 

Donna scoffed and rolled her eyes. Never a hello. Never a pleasant greeting. No, Josh lacked those basic social skills. She found this surprising, as his mother was one of the most proper and socially engaging women Donna had ever met. How her son ended up being such a lump of coal in that area, she didn't know. The brusqueness had to be his father's influence, Donna thought before responding. 

"Why it's so nice to hear from you--again," she replied with feigned sweetness. "It's been nearly... what? Three hours? Oh Joshua, how are you? What's new in your world?" 

"You land around 10 tonight," he continued, either oblivious to her comments or ignoring them entirely. "Come here before you go home." 

"It's this overwhelming courtesy you show me that I appreciate so much," she chided. 

"I sent you to Hawaii," he reminded her. "Anyone else ever do that for you?" 

"Oh, it's the Mean Man I'm talking to," she said. "Just for that, I'm not bringing you back a present." 

"You've said that to me 100 times in the last three days," he reminded her. 

"Would that be because you've called me twice as many times?" 

"Stop by before you go anywhere else," he commanded. 

"Yes, sir," she said, saluting him though he could not see. 

Nor did he hear it as he had hung up before she could say it. 

The flights were relatively smooth and other an hour-long than a delay at LAX, quite pleasant. Donna enjoyed flying--and the First Class seat the DNC paid for was heaven. It wasn't Air Force One, she reasoned, but it beat the hell out of the coach seats she could barely afford on her salary. 

When she landed at Dulles in Washington, there was another delay as the plane circled the airport for 30 minutes. Donna considered calling Josh as soon as she was at the baggage claim, but decided against it. He might be raging at something and delaying her arrival at the office for a phone call might make it worse. Not that his rages bothered her. She did not understand why other assistants cringed at his outbursts. What Donna found difficult was keeping a straight face through the tirades. The Big Bad Wolf was scarier than Josh, even in Josh's most incensed moments. 

Donna picked up her bags, retrieved her car from the lot area and wove her way through the sloppy streets. Snow had fallen on the capital city recently leaving a pristine blanket of white across the landscape. It sparkled beneath streetlights, and the patches of pale rays thrown by the icy moon playing Peek-A-Boo behind the clouds. 

She parked in the lot across from the office at 11:37 precisely. Less than two hours late wasn't bad for using domestic travel services, she thought as she entered the building. Donna shuffled through the halls of the west wing, looking for Josh. She reasoned that something big was in the air and Josh needed her assistance with pulling research, typing up memos and basically keeping him company while he and the rest of the senior staff worked to put out a fire that was stirred by the Republican party while she was gone. She rounded the corner to the Communications bullpen and saw something that took her completely off guard. 

Nobody was there. No Toby, no Sam, not even Ginger or Bonnie. The bullpen was like a ghost town. 

Maybe they're all in Josh's office, Donna thought as her pace quickened towards the place that was her home more often than her apartment. When she arrived at her desk, she saw the mirror image of Communications. Donna dropped her tote bag on her desk and entered Josh's office. Finding it eerily empty, she sat down in Josh's chair and placed her chin in her hand. 

This can't be. Josh specifically told me to come here once my plane landed. And now I can't find a single soul in this entire area. They can't be in Leo's office or I would have heard the screaming by now. Nobody has left this early since the President's thing became public. Where could they be? 

Donna leaned back in the chair and subconsciously placed her feet on the desk. She weighed the options of trying his cell or pager. Neither seemed advisable with so little information available to her. If he was deep in strategy, an unwelcome disturbance would not bode well for Donna, especially if Josh was still arguing with Toby. She closed her eyes and racked her thoughts as to where the currently elusive Josh Lyman was hiding. 

"Welcome back, Donna." 

Donna's eyes snapped open and she stared at the visitor. 

"Mr. President!" she exclaimed as her feet hit the floor. "How… how are you, sir?" 

"I'm doing fine," Bartlet responded. "Did I wake you?" 

"No sir. I was just trying to think of where Josh could be hiding.. where he could be right now." 

"Well, I can tell you where he is," Bartlet offered. "He went home." 

"Why?" Donna proclaimed and then caught the President's curious look. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. It's just that he told me to come directly here after my flight landed. So I did. Is he all right? Did something... happen?" 

"No, I ordered him to go home," Bartlet said. "Well, I had Leo do it. Told them all to go, in fact. My entire senior staff was acting like a bunch of five-year-olds who desperately need a nap. One minute they were ready to kill each other and the next they were giggling uncontrollably. I'm thinking about opening up a daycare in the west wing for them. There's good money in childcare these days, Donna. If you're thinking of a career change in the next few months, this is a good opportunity." 

"Well, thank you, Mr. President," Donna said smiling. "But I think I'll stay where I am for the moment." 

"Suit yourself," Bartlet replied. "But I'm thinking of applying myself. I told them all to go home and not set foot in their offices until 7 am. It's good to be Commander-in Chief some days, Donna." 

"Yes, sir," Donna replied as she joined Bartlet in the bullpen. "If there is nothing pressing on the horizon, sir, shouldn't you be in bed as well?" 

"I needed to do some thinking," he replied. "And I think best by roaming the halls late at night when no one's around." 

"Mrs. Bartlet out of town?" Donna surmised. 

"She'll be back on Tuesday," Bartlet said with sage nod. 

Donna smiled as she walked back to her desk to retrieve her tote bag. The President accompanied her down the hall towards the exit. 

"Did you have an enjoyable experience in Hawaii, Donna?" Bartlet asked. 

"Absolutely, sir," she said enthusiastically. "I learned a lot while I was out there and I met... um, some interesting people. Plus, I got do some shopping." 

"Shopping, you say?" the President asked. "Well, Hawaii is known for its beautiful treasures, both natural and those they import from overseas and say it's authentic." 

"Of course, Mr. President," Donna nodded as she pulled a box out of her bag. "And since you're here, I'd like to give you this." 

"A present? For me?" Bartlet remarked a bit surprised. "Donna, you really didn't have to." 

"I wanted to, sir." Donna said as he opened the box. "To show my gratitude to you." 

"Donna, you're gratitude is obvious at all times," Bartlet said then grew silent as he fished the content out of the box. "Why, Donna, it's lovely." 

"It's a volcanic rock from the Mauna Loa Volcano, sir," Donna explained. "I knew you enjoyed authentic pieces and, well, this is as authentic as one can get in Hawaii." 

"Yes it is," he smiled. "Did you know that the Mauna Loa Volcano is the largest volcano and the largest single mountain of any kind in the world? It rises nearly 29,000 feet from its base on the sea floor." 

"And it's erupted more than 35 times since the 1800s," Donna continued. "It usually produces between one to five million tons of lava per hour in the early stages of eruption." 

"The South Kona District is known for its cultivation of macadamia nuts," Bartlet added. 

"Don't forget coffee, sir," Donna said as she stifled a yawn. 

"Well, at least someone on this staff enjoys trivia," Bartlet nodded. "Okay, I've kept you here long enough. Josh will need you bright and early tomorrow - or rather later today. Go home and rest, that's an order." 

"Thank you, sir," she yawned again. 

"Good girl," the President chuckled. "And thank you again for this lovely artifact." 

"You're welcome, Mr. President." 

******************* 

Sunlight arrived and brought the city to live again. Donna managed to get out of bed and into the office before 7 a.m. in the hopes of finding Josh and the staff before the day got started. However, as she strolled down the halls, her gift bags in hand, she could see she was too late. She found a terse note taped to her computer from Josh stating it was 5:45 a.m. when he wrote it and her chair was suspiciously empty. The note further stated that if she was going to bother coming to the office that day, she would be able to find him in the Mural Room with the Senior Staff for an early morning meeting. She crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash before setting off on her excursion. Before she was near the door, she heard the unmistakable sound of Josh hard at work: yelling. 

"I'm telling you, Sam," he shouted. "We've got to watch out for the Midwest. Ohio and Indiana are the pivotal votes and we don't have them!" 

"And I'm telling you, Ohio and Indiana will fall in line," Sam shot back. "We should worry about the Northwest. Washington is the key." 

"Well," Toby sighed, "You're both wrong. Our battle ground is Florida. We've got to win back those votes. I've read those numbers and they're so close to Joey's hypothetical poll I would swear she's psychic." 

Bartlet sat at the head of the table and watched the verbal tennis match continue. A part of him was energized at how much his staff was willing to fight to help him stay in his seat in the Oval Office. The other part wondered if this was a battle worth showing up for. What he did know was that the staff seemed to be focused on the hypothetical electoral results, they seemed less boisterous when answering his questions about election strategy. CJ and Sam's tones were subdued; Toby was sighing frequently before responding and Josh did not seem comfortable looking Bartlet in the eyes. The President looked at his Chief of Staff and heard the echoes of his advice: Give them time; they'll come around. Bartlet removed his glasses and stared toward the door. He noticed Donna quietly standing in the doorway, waiting for Josh to turn his attention towards her so she could let him know that she was in the building. Bartlet saw this as an opportunity and decided to jump. 

"Okay, Huey, Dewey and Louie," Bartlet said. "You can halt the diatribe for now. We have a visitor. Donna, did you need something?" 

The three staffers turned towards the door. Donna stood there, a slight blush appearing on her alabaster cheeks. 

"Welcome back, Donna," Sam said cheerfully. "I trust that everything went well in Hawaii?" 

"Oh yes," she nodded. "I learned a tremendous amount from everyone there, and Josh has a detailed report from my trip." 

"Yeah, I read all about the little flowers, and ocean breezes and…" Josh stopped his rambling when he felt the stare of the President on the side of his neck. 

"Donna," Bartlet said as he shifted his gaze from Josh to her, "I have the utmost confidence in your research skills, and I'm sure your report is excellent." 

"Thank you, Mr. President." 

"I can't tell you enough how much I enjoy my rock," the President smiled. 

"She brought you a rock?" Josh asked sounding perplexed. 

"She certainly did," he beamed. "An authentic volcanic rock from the Mauna Loa Volcano. Remind me to tell you all about its history." 

"Uh huh," Josh nodded then turned to Donna again. "Didn't anyone teach you it's not nice to bring gifts to just one person." 

"Yes," Donna answered gestured to her bags. "That's why I brought something for everyone. They're in here." 

"Great. Where's mine?" 

"I gave you yours." 

"No, you didn't." 

"You told me that all you wanted were those notes," she reminded him. 

"Since when do you listen to everything I say?" 

She turned her back to him then reached into her large tote. She drew out a smaller, colorful satchel containing a hefty, round weight of some sort. She handed the pouch to Leo, who was seated to the left of the President and appeared surprised to be receiving anything. 

"This is for you, Leo." 

"For me?" Leo replied as he reached into the bag and pulled out a hard, hairy brown object. "A coconut?" 

"Yeah," Donna said proudly. "It's so much like you--hard on the outside but sweet deep inside. Get a matching one at a grocery store and you can say you've got a lovely bunch of coconuts." 

"I already do," Leo groused as he glared momentarily at his staff. "Thank you, Donna. I honestly have nothing else to say about this." 

"Okay," Josh interrupted. "Mine's next." 

Donna ignored the order and delved back into her bag. She lifted out a large, slim white box. It rustled slightly as she handed it across to Sam, whose tired eyes perked up behind his glasses as he receive his treasure. 

"I thought you'd really enjoy this," she said as he flipped off the lid and tore into the tissue paper. 

"Uh… well… this is," he paused and stared into the box. "What can I say? I mean it, Donna. What should I say about this?" 

"What is it, Sam?" CJ asked as she leaned forward. "Come on, don't hold out on us." 

"It looks like a… grass skirt," Sam said in an unsure tone. 

"I'm sorry," CJ chuckled. "Did you say grass skirt?" 

"It's a traditional grass skirt that all men wear at the luaus, Sam," Donna informed him. 

"Interesting," he replied in a noncommittal tone. 

"Isn't it," she responded. "Drives the women wild. You should throw your own authentic luau when the weather gets warmer. You'll be the only man there with a real one. You'll be both the host and master of ceremonies. How could any woman resist that?" 

"Really?" he asked. 

"Oh yeah," Donna nodded as she sat down next to CJ. "Some women in the shop where I purchased it couldn't stop talking about how appealing they think men are who wear these. Its a coveted symbol of masculinity in some tribes." 

"Excellent." 

"Is any of that true?" CJ whispered to Donna. 

"No," Donna whispered back. "I forgot to put Sam on my list. I picked this up at the airport gift shop thirty minutes before my departure." 

"Donna," Josh smiled sweetly, "am I next?" 

"No," she answered. 

"Donna!" 

"Learn some patience, Joshua," Donna said to him as handed the next box in Toby's direction. "This is for you, Toby." 

"Oh, gee, really," Toby frowned. "I don't need one." 

"Great, then I'll take it," Josh joined in. 

Donna instantly slapped his wrist as he reached forward. 

"Josh, if you don't sit down and be quiet, you'll be waiting until the end of the term to get your present," Bartlet warned. "I want to see what Toby has." 

Josh acknowledged the President's advice and dropped his hands. He sat dejectedly beside Toby, who was taking his sweet time in opening the box. It was as tall as Sam's had been long, but it was wider as well. 

When Toby finally opened the vertical box, he pulled out an elaborate headdress, adorned with a multitude of vibrant feathers. 

"What is this?" Toby asked. 

"It's an ancient style thinking cap," Donna informed him. "You're the big kahuna when it comes to delivering the message around here, so I figured that you deserved a chapeau worthy of your position." 

"I like my old thinking cap fine," he grumbled. 

"That dirty old thing?" Donna said. "Really, Toby, it's time to get a new one." 

"No, its not," he informed her sternly as he placed his feathery new hat back in its box. "That Giants cap has been with me since their last Super Bowl victory. It's a good cap." 

"Obviously not, considering their last Super Bowl appearance," Josh smirked. "Now, what was that score again?" 

"Shut up." 

"Put it on Toby," CJ said. 

"No." 

"Put it on," Bartlet nodded. "I mean it's certainly not going to hurt. In fact, it might help the thought processes in this room." 

"With all due respect, Mr. President," Toby growled. "Hell, no." 

"Oh, I knew you were going to make me order you," Bartlet grinned slyly. 

"Here, Toby, I'll help you," Donna offered. She reached back into the box and took the well-plumed cap out then placed it atop his head. Donna smoothed the feathers into a standing position. "There. You look like a Tribal Chief now." 

"Good, then I vote you off the island," he snarled. 

"Toby, this could be a new look for you," Sam lightly chuckled. 

"Mr. President," Toby said calmly. "If I have to wear this, then it would be… I would feel wrong to have the spotlight all to myself. I think that Sam should wear his too." 

"I agree," Bartlet agreed as he noticed Sam slinking down in his seat. "Sam?" 

The deputy speech writer paused for a moment, but the anticipatory grin on his Commander-in-Chief's face told him there were no loopholes to jump through and no rebuttal arguments to be made. He took a deep breath and exhaled his final moment of dignity with this group then stood to model his new Polynesian wardrobe. 

"You know," Sam stood and began to wrap the skirt around his trousers, "this reminds me of the luau we had back at Princeton. I had just finished finals. We threw together the whole thing in a couple hours. We even had a pit for cooking the pig." 

"Where did you find a pig?" Josh asked. "Or am I better of not asking?" 

"Anyway," Sam continued, "the party was in full force - drinks, pig, more drinks. Then.. well, never mind." 

"You fell into the pit, didn't you?" CJ surmised. 

"It wasn't the actual pit," Sam explained. "It was the test pit. We dug two. I'm not sure why any more. See, what I think is..." 

"Sam," Leo interrupted. 

"Well, I'm surprised more people didn't do the same," Sam said. "I didn't really get hurt. Twisted my ankle a bit, but I didn't let that stop me from enjoying the rest of the..." 

"Sam," Leo tried again. 

"I was rather lucky…" 

"SAM!" 

"Right," he said, the tendrils of his wardrobe crinkling in the chair as he sat down. 

"One question, Sam," CJ said. 

"What?" 

"How did you get girls to go out with you? Or was the pig your date?" 

"Okay," Josh said. "Now that we've sufficiently tormented Sam--for now--I believe Donna has another gift to present." 

"Yes, I do," Donna said as she pulled out a small wrapped box. 

"For me," Josh said firmly. 

"No," Donna replied just as confidently. "The last one is for you, CJ." 

"No, no, no," Josh said shaking his head. 

"Is it time for your nap?" Donna asked then turned her attention back to the Press Secretary. "Go ahead and open it, CJ." 

CJ ripped open the paper and opened the box. She pulled out a beautiful coral shell necklace. 

"Oh, Donna, it's exquisite," CJ gasped. "It looks handmade." 

"It is," Donna beamed. "I watched the guy make it." 

"Wait a minute," Toby jumped in. "We get these… things… and she gets that?" 

"It's girl power, boys," CJ smirked. "Benefits of the sisterhood." 

"Okay," Josh interjected, "Everybody's gotten their presents. Oh, wait. Not everyone. I believe, Ms. Moss, that you have forgotten the most important person here in this room." 

"I gave the President his last night," Donna said simply. 

"DONNA!" 

"Donna, please," Bartlet chuckled. "You better give him his before that vein in his neck burst through his skin." 

"Uh, well, you see, Sir," Donna stalled. "It's not exactly here." 

"What do you mean not exactly?" Josh asked. "Not exactly it's in this room? Not exactly it's in this building?" 

"It hasn't been delivered yet," she confessed. 

"It's being delivered?" 

"That's what I said." 

"You managed to bring back something for everyone in this room and yet mine has to be delivered? What did you buy me--an entire island? 'Cause really, if that's the case, then you'd better quit complaining about your salary." 

"The thing I got you will be here in a week." 

"A week? Donna…" 

"Okay, now that it's all settled," Leo interrupted, "can we get back to the business at hand?" 

Josh scowled as everyone else in the room nodded. Donna excused herself and went to her desk to start opening mail. 

**************** 

**To**: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
**From**: nalyman@soconn.net   
**Date**: 25DEC2001   
**Time**: 08:03.27   
**Subject**: Thank you 

_Dearest Donna,_   
_ Thank you so much for the beautiful earrings you sent me from Hawaii. How was your trip? Did you enjoy seeing the sun again? I do hope you were able to see some of the islands. My Joshua is his father's son, as I have said many times before, and I fear he may have given you an itinerary that kept you from leaving the conference rooms. Noah and Joshua are the only two men I know who could go to one of the most beautiful places on the planet and ignore their surroundings entirely... unless there was a golf course and a tee time set aside for them. Such a stupid game, if you ask me, but it made them happy to walk around at 6 a.m. whacking little white balls with crooked sticks. I was always just glad they didn't try it in my rose garden. It is too bad you were not able to go home to see your family for the holidays. It can be such a difficult time of the year. I don't suppose that working for a man who doesn't acknowledge holidays makes it any easier. Joshua's only clue when Hanukah is comes when I call him three days after it is over to remind him that he forgot to call me during Hanukah. I never dropped him on his head as a child, but there are times when I wonder if someone else may have. See that he gives you any time off you are entitled to and have a Happy New Year.___

_Warmest wishes,_   
_Anna___

***************** 

Donna finished reading her e-mail. She was glad she had sent the Anna the earrings. She felt awkward doing so at first, but when she saw them in the shop, she felt driven to get them for Anna. She wasn't sure why. The woman wanted for nothing--at least materially. She sounded a touch lonely in her letter, though. Josh never went home for the holidays, and as Anna freely admitted, was apt to forget to call home regularly. Donna made a mental note to write back to her before the day was done, but first she needed to tackle the tide of personal mail she had received while she was away. Her roommate had left a stack of Christmas cards on Donna's bed that had filled their box. She decided to spend her lunch hour reading through them--and praying she had not forgotten to send one to anyone herself. 

She was nearly through her stack of mail and was reading a card from her sister when her peaceful moment was interrupted. 

"My gift anywhere in all this mess?" Josh asked. 

"It's after four o'clock on Christmas Day, and I'm just starting my lunch hour," Donna informed him. "I would like half an hour to myself." 

"It's mid afternoon on a Thursday, and I'm still trying to get my present," he responded. "I want my gift." 

"I don't have it yet," she said then returned her eyes to the card. 

"Whatcha reading?" 

"War and Peace," she said flatly as she kept reading. 

"Really?" he replied. "It was a hell of a lot longer when I got stuck reading it in high school." 

"Do you need something?" she asked giving him her patient expression that let him know her patience was in an anorexic stage at that moment. 

"Yeah, my present," he said with a grin. "You walked right into that, you know. You're slipping." 

"So are you," she snipped. "Where's mine?" 

Donna held out her hands and waited. He looked at her with a perplexed expression. She recalled his mother's message. Josh could focus on things so completely that he could miss someone standing right in front of him speaking to him, but even he could not have missed the trees and wreaths decorating the office. Surely he had read a calendar somewhere that informed him that December 25 was a holiday. The nearly total lack of people in the office should have indicated to him that this was not a regular workday. And if all that managed to slip by him, he certainly would know that the President had left for New Hampshire hour earlier to spend the holiday at his farm with his family. Donna stared back at him, but was not rewarded with any change in his expression. 

"Your keen powers of observation could use a little sharpening, Josh," she said, getting up from her desk then yanking a file out of the bank of cabinets adjacent to her desk. "It is the season of giving. You are getting your gift soon--though, I could remind you that you didn't want anything other than your notes." 

"And I am left t ask again, when did you start obeying my commands so precisely?" 

"Hmm, that is a question," she said as she returned to her seat without giving him an answer. "Here's a better one: Where's mine? Christmas, basically, has come and gone, yet I--your over worked, under paid assistant--don't seem to have a gift from you." 

"I gave you a trip to Hawaii." 

"The DNC paid for that," she countered. 

"Technicality," he shrugged. "It was from me, but they footed the bill. It's that $10 limit thing." 

"It wasn't from you." 

"Sure it was," Josh argued. "I spent about $10 in phone calls, on my personal bill, arranging for you to go." 

"You really know how to overwhelm a girl," she said breezing past him and entering his office. "It's amazing that some woman hasn't knocked down your door to be your date for New Year's." 

He followed at a leisurely pace. 

"Who says one or two haven't?" Josh replied as he took a seat at his desk, instinctively kicking his feet onto the desktop. 

"Right," she scoffed. "Like you have a date for New Year's." 

"Is there some bar against that occurrence? Did I miss a memo or something?" 

"So do you have a date?" Donna asked in surprise as she instantly sat in the chair opposite his desk. 

The room felt warm and eerily still to her. 

"I just told you I did," he said. "You?" 

"Me?" she asked quickly then studied the look on his face. "Oh, you mean do I have a date? Well, not exactly. So who is your date with?" 

"The proper construction is 'with whom are you going on this date,'" he said. "Just a friend who is going to be in town. She called a couple days ago." 

"So it's a woman." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Nothing," Donna said, trying to keep her tone conversational. "Do I know her? Where does she work?" 

"Why are you interested?" he asked, giving her an appraising look that could read nothing in her bland expression "You're the one always trying to set me up; just be happy your services were not needed." 

"I'm just curious, that's all," she lied effectively. "I mean, when Josh Lyman takes an break from working... that's something. It's practically news worthy. I was just wondering if CJ needed to be briefed." 

"There's nothing wrong with a solid work ethic," he retorted. "Besides, if she and I happen to go to a certain party at which certain influential ears and voices will be, and I strike up a relevant conversation that borders on work, then so much the better." 

So, she's in politics, Donna surmised. She began running through the possible choices. The one who jumped to mind first was Melanie Gates, a poli-sci professor at Georgetown who (in Donna's estimate) was a little too differential to Josh's opinion the last time both appeared on CNN's Crossfire. The woman was also a kind of trampy in Donna's opinion; her red hair wasn't natural and frankly Donna doubted her bust size wasn't either. Add to that the woman's too-perfect makeup and unprofessionally provocative clothing and the woman's entire image was that of a well-tutored prostitute. She was more Sam's type than Josh's, Donna felt.   
  
So who could it be? Not one of his addle-minded admirers. He had that look in his eyes that said part of the evening would be dedicated to work. That means it's someone he either trusts or has access that he...__

_ Oh no!_

"No," Donna cried as she searched his eyes and found confirmation. "Josh! That's your Mandy face." 

"My what?" 

"You two are all wrong for each other," Donna said firmly. "You were miserable with her and the only reason it bothers you when she's with someone else is your selfish, juvenile need to believe you are every woman's dream." 

"Okay, I'm not proposing to her," Josh said defensively. "She's in town doing some consulting for Senator Gilmore. We both happen to support the same budget amendment. Earl Brenan is hosting a gathering with some folks who we both need to speak with unofficially and this is the perfect opportunity. And how do you figure I have a juvenile ne...." 

"So it's just business?" Donna interrupted. 

"With Madeline, you never know," Josh grinned and laced his fingers behind his head. "So, you didn't tell me, do you have a date?" 

"Not really," Donna said with a pinched tone. "Ashley and I are supposed to go out with some friends, but it's all kind of up in the air right now." 

"Sounds perfectly pathetic," he said, sounding and looking pleased. "Enjoy it. Now, I have a radical idea for a Thursday afternoon..." 

"Yes?" 

"Work." 

Donna stood and offered him a sweet sneer as she turned to leave his office. 

"I want you to know that I'm going to enjoy the rest of my day despite you," she said. 

"I want my present," he shouted after her. 

***************** 

The New Years--at least the eve of it--dawned and left Donna without any plans. Her friends were heading into   
Georgetown. The frigid temperatures were one reason to stay in, she thought. The other was her looming fear of the process server who was surely looking for her. She was trepidatious about speaking to the grand jury, but she was also enjoying her game of cat and mouse. Granted, she wasn't sure anyone had seriously tried to find her yet, but the idea of it gave her a small thrill. So, as her roommate departed, Donna dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt (which she strategically turned inside out) then headed back to the office. There was never a shortage of minor things to take care of and it would be quiet in the West Wing that evening. The peace would be a welcomed change. She took a cab to the front gate, fearing drunks and bad drivers, and arrived at her desk around 10 p.m. 

She was halfway through the stack of faxes when suddenly another dozen were tossed into her in-basket. Donna looked up, ready to give a brief yet nasty glare at whatever intern had the gall to throw more work on her desk. She found instead the retreating back of a man dressed in a tuxedo walking into Josh's office. Curious, Donna called out to him. 

"Josh?" 

"Yeah," he said peaking around the door frame. 

"What are you doing here?"   
  
"Working," he said. 

She noted that his tie was undone and his cufflinks were no where to be seen. As she inspected him, she felt his eyes give her a long once over. 

"Well, you dressed for the occasion," he commented, looking perplexedly at her sweatshirt then shaking his head.   
  
"What occasion?" 

"Your night out with the girls," he smirked. 

"It fell through," she sighed. 

"Well, you're here with me tell me, how's your year going so far?" 

Donna grimaced then rolled her eyes. 

"That bad?" Josh remarked. "Good. I'd hate to think I was the only one who wasn't having fun." 

He returned to his office but in a loud voice explained to her that a last minute call from Leo canceled his plans. He had been in the office for the better part of the evening, sorting out a snafu with the Red Cross and a mini-blizzard that has struck North Dakota two days earlier. Donna listened with some interest, but had turned her attention to the final bits of her mail that she had not opened during her lunch hour that week. 

The envelope that interested her most was the one she had expected least. She slit open the deep red paper and started reading the beautiful card within. She had not finished the front of the greeting when it was suddenly pulled from her hands. 

"Excuse me," she said in a perturbed voice to Josh. "That card is none of your business." 

"Everything in this building is my business," he replied, managing to sound innocent. 

"You're not deluded enough to believe that," she said trying to snatch the card back. "Now, give that to me. Was it addressed to you? No, it was not. It was addressed to me. Bradford was kind enough to send it to me. Got it? Me, not you." 

"Buford can write?" Josh chuckled. "How did he sign his name? With an "X"?" 

"Bradford," she sighed. "He told me that it was a shame that I wouldn't be able to come home for Christmas and that we wouldn't get the chance to see each other." 

"I'll bet he did," Josh continued, holding the card just beyond her reach. "So back on the farm it's just him and the sheep or whatever, I guess. At least he won't be lonely." 

"He has a large family." 

"Do they bear any resemblance to livestock?" 

"Josh." 

"Hey, whatever your farmer boy likes to do is his business," Josh said. "I'm not passing judgment... not much anyway." 

Donna leaned forward and stripped the card from his grasp. He seethed suddenly and stuck in index finger in his mouth. Donna was briefly sorry for his paper cut, and then decided he had earned it. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Donna remarked. "Bradford is not a farmer. He's a very successful farming equipment salesman." 

"Right," Josh nodded. "Sir John Deere. Yeah, 'cause that's nothing like farming. Nothing wrong with it, Donna. Farms need.... things with motors. I know that. We have farms in Connecticut... I think." 

"You sound jealous," she observed. 

"Of a someone who is the equivalent of a car salesman?" 

"He's very popular, well loved by everyone, and makes a ton of money," she explained. She then place the card far from his reach--behind her desk in front of the book Josh had given her two Christmases earlier. 

"I have that," Josh said confidently. "Why are you being all secretive and defensive about Buford's card?" 

"Bradford," she said firmly. "Because you're being a juvenile with your name calling." 

"Do you get this way about everyone you know?" Josh queried. "I didn't see you bat an eye the other day with the Times somehow managed to call me both petulant and a mercenary." 

"Well, I didn't see where they were off the mark," Donna informed him. 

"That's a matter of opinion," Josh said confidently. "What isn't is this rather pathetic longing you insist on perpetuating for a high school crush..." 

"It's not a longing and it's not pathetic," Donna said instantly. "And it's not a crush." 

"You're gushing over the guy, Donna." 

"I don't gush over marr...," she stopped herself, feeling she'd said more than enough for Josh to keep himself entertained--at her expense--well into the coming new year. 

"What was that?" 

"Nothing," Donna replied curtly, folding her card and tucking it into a desk drawer. 

"Something," Josh insisted with a grin that brought out both dimples in their snarky form. "Marr.... Marr something... Donna...." 

"You, Joshua Lyman, are an absolute child, a bratty child," she said. "How you are able to fool anyone with a modicum of intelligence into believing you are a responsible, mature adult is one of the mysteries of..." 

"So, Buford the Beloved, patron of all tractors everywhere, has his own Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, doesn't he?" Josh asked. 

Donna turned in her chair, showing him her back as she began typing on her computer. 

"Now, you're looking like the jilted woman," he continued. 

"I'm not jilted," Donna said spinning in her seat again. 

"Me thinks the lady doth..." 

"Oh shut up," she snapped, realizing he was bored and would continue with the maddening topic until he found something else to occupy him. She reached into a stack of memos on her desk and snatched a handful. "Here. You've got so much time on your hands, read your memos." 

"I pay you to do that," he said, taking them all the same. 

The firm set of her jaw and the stern look in her eyes signaled the fun part of needling her was over. 

"Donna, call it a night," he relented. "That stuff can wait until morning." 

"It's not for you," she said, continuing with her typing. 

"I know," he said. "It's for Toby so it's not priority. Come on. I'll take you home." 

"You will?" she asked suspiciously but gratefully. She was tired and technically not getting paid for the extra time she was putting in--which normally didn't bother her, but doing it for Toby was somehow different than when she was working specifically for Josh. "I can get a cab." 

"I know you could," he said, holding out her coat for her. "But I won't get my present that way. You've got it, and I want it. So, we'll go back to your place, and you can give that special token of your appreciation." 

"I'll what?" 

"The gift. From Hawaii," he said. "You said it arrived yesterday." 

"Oh, right." 

"Donna, if you've got something else in mind, I'll have to take a rain check because...." 

"Do you want your stupid gift or not?' she said, feeling her cheeks grow flush. 

***************** 

The drive to apartment was perilous with the bad roads, questionable sobriety of many of the drivers and Josh seemingly fearless affection for the accelerator. Donna had no fear of an accident, but that did not stop her from prophesying one for Josh and his driving techniques. She reminded him three times before they passed Dupont Circle that the speed limit was not a dare. 

Once at her place, they hurried into the building. Even in frigid weather, the streets were as far from empty as they were from being safe. The heat of the building was stifling with the old pipes turning the halls into saunas. Both had peeled off their coats by the time they reached her apartment on the third floor. 

Josh had launched headlong into a castigation of the city's inability to keep the streets civilized and was blaming the war zone atmosphere on the root of all evil in his universe: Ultra Conservative Republicans. Donna had heard this litany of charges many times and was inclined to agree with more of it than she disagreed with, but not this evening. During the ride to her building, her eyes kept straying to the driver. With his focus generally on the road, he was unaware of the scrutiny he was receiving. 

The thoughts that flowed through her mind at those moments had nothing to do with her job, Josh's job, or the White House. She thought of what it would be like to spend a holiday, even a regular evening, with Josh having dinner at an actual restaurant, watching a movie… 

"Donna, you gonna open the door?" Josh asked, breaking her from her trance. 

Donna pulled her keys from her bag and opened the door, glancing at the top of the casing as she turned to face him. A slight blush appeared on her cheeks. 

"What?" 

"It's mistletoe," Donna pointed upward. 

"It's poisonous you know," he informed her.   
  
"Mistletoe?" 

"Yeah." 

It took them several seconds to realize the meaning of hung mistletoe. Donna jumped further into her apartment and Josh leaped into the hallway… the small of his back crashing into the fire extinguisher outside. 

"OUCH!" he screamed. 

"Are you all right?" Donna asked as she made her way over to him. 

"Sure, he groaned. "It's nothing massive chiropractic intervention can't fix." 

Donna removed the mistletoe and tossed it aside. "Want me to help you up or do you want to crawl inside?" 

"Give me my dignity. I'll stand," he said with a wince in his voice. 

"You're gonna need ice for that," she said heading back inside. "It's gonna bruise." 

"I'll be fine. Just give me a second or five." 

Josh limped into Donna's apartment incredibly slower than his usual lightning quick speed. 

"Here, let me take a look at it," Donna reached for his jacket. 

"Hey!" he yelled, and then squinted his eyes shut. 

"What?" 

"It's fine, Florence Nightingale," Josh moaned. 

"Uh huh," Donna said then lightly touched the spot on his back. 

"See?" Josh said through clenched teeth. "Just fine." 

"No, not fine. Go lay down on the couch on your stomach," she ordered. "I'm getting some ice." 

"No, no," he argued. "Really. Donna. It's fine. That's not necessary. Nor is it.... appropriate." 

"Appropriate?" she repeated. "Josh, give me a break. It's not like I haven't...." 

"I don't care," he shot back. "It's... just forget about it. It hurts less already. Really. When you hit me with the door last spring was worse than this." 

"At least sit down," she pleaded. 

Josh carefully and gingerly sat down on Donna's couch. He tried to put his feet up on her coffee table, but the scorching pain shooting down his back decided for him that it was not the right thing to do. 

"How do you feel?" 

"With every nerve ending, how do you feel?" he smirked. 

"Joshua." 

"Donnatella Moss, don't lecture me," he commanded. 

"This is my house and I can lecture you all you want," she retorted. 

"This is an apartment, not a house, and how is being snippy the proper way to treat your guests?" Josh asked sharply. "And you say I lack manners...." 

"I was just saying..." 

"Donna," he cut her off. 

"Yes?" 

"My present." 

"What?" she asked then recalled the reason he was there. "Oh right. Stay here." 

Josh waited as she began sifting through her bag--the one she brought home from the office. It took him several seconds to register this. 

"Donna!" 

"What?" she asked as she drew a box out of the bag. 

"You lied to me," he grumbled. "You had it with you the whole time. You were holding out on me." 

"You were being a pest," she said. "Now, I feel bad because of... well, because you're kind of pathetic." 

"Fine," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's have it." 

"You see, I am a woman of occasion..." she began, still holding firm to the small box. 

"Great," he said with curt nod as he cut her off. "Now gimme!" 

"What are you, three?" 

"If I say yes, do I get my present?" 

"You need to learn patience," she informed him. 

"Right," he agreed readily. "Now, hand it over, Donna. I want it. Now!" 

"Okay, my sister-in-law doesn't let my nephew he act like this," Donna said. 

"There are times when I get paid to act like this," Josh countered quickly. "In fact, Leo sends me to the Hill to yell about Big Tobacco when I act like this." 

"I'd suggest a Time Out's in order for you," Donna warned. 

"I'd suggest a raise for you if you'd give me my present," he said eagerly. 

"I'm not falling for that." 

Josh paused and relaxed his posture and turned his gaze on her in a softer way. He grinned slightly. 

"That's because you are an intelligent and savvy woman.," he said mildly. 

"I am," she agreed, brushing her hair from her shoulders and smiling inwardly. "And that's why I'm not falling for that either." 

"I want my present!" 

Donna sighed, figuring she had tortured him enough. She smiled and handed him the slim, neatly wrapped box. 

"This is it?" he asked, looking at the tiny parcel. 

"What did you expect?" she asked. "A new car?" 

"Just that Sam's was in a bigger box," Josh said, failing to remove the vestiges of pout from his voice. 

"Do boys ever grow out of the 'bigger must be better' concept?" 

"It's better than Sam's thing right?" he continued. 

"Much," she promised. 

He barely nodded as he tried to tear into the paper. He racked his short nails into the paper with no lucky. He looked for an edge or a seam to no avail. It was in his hands and yet beyond his reach at the same time. _This could be a metaphor for the election_, he thought as his frustration rose. 

Finally, he sighed explosively and turned a pointed stare toward Donna. 

"Donna!" 

"For the love of God, Joshua," she said and held out her hand. "Does Harvard know you flunked Kindergarten? Give that to me." 

"It's mine," he said possessively, though he handed the box back. 

She could not invade any of the seams without risking her nails. So she went to the small desk in the corner and retrieved a pair of scissors to slice through the tape. 

"I could do that," Josh said. 

"I feel safer this way," she replied as she handed him box with a flap of paper now accessible. "Something tells me you were the type who ran with scissors in grade school." 

He did not bother to comment, for several reasons. One, he was intent on opening his gift. Two, what she said was marginally true. Three, he was no good at lying to her so he had no simply way to defend himself from the charge. His father had been the only the litigator in the family for a reason. 

Rather than delve into the debate, he tore into the wrapping--tossing a wad of paper to the floor. Donna rolled her eyes and retrieved the discarded wrapping without further comment. She watched him as he paused before opening the box. He was looking at her suspiciously. 

"It's not gonna spill or anything is it?" he asked. "You didn't like, bring me sand or dirt or something, did you?" 

"No." 

"Is it empty?" he asked, shaking the box. "It feels kind of light. You know it's cruel to trick people." 

"Yeah, it's empty because I wanted to get your hopes up and then laugh at the outcome of you finding nothing," she scoffed. 

"You do have a cruel streak in you," he observed as briefly narrowed his eyes at her before returning his attention to his gift. 

Josh cautiously opened the lid and peered inside. He folded back the thin tissue paper. 

"What is...," he paused as he looked at the picture inside. "It's a baseball card." 

"Yes, it is," she nodded proudly. 

"Wow, you went all out," he said. "Did you chew the gum or is that in here, too?" 

"Okay, Monday morning we're getting your eyes checked and buying you a book on manners," Donna said as she leaned across him and turned on the light beside the couch. "Look closely." 

He did as she commanded. He blinked and the pleased dimple appeared in his cheek. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes for a moment before speaking. 

"Autographed," he noted. "Personalized for me." 

"Yes," Donna proclaimed. "I saw Marilyn in Hawaii and she was going to New York and was going to see Mike..." 

"That's Mr. Piazza to you," Josh corrected her. 

"He told me on the phone to call him Mike," she said. "I was going to call him 'dude' for you, but it was too utterly juvenile for me." 

"Donna this is...," he said as he smiled and stared at the card. "I don't know what to say. Thank you." 

"You're welcome," Donna replied. "Thank you for sending me to Hawaii." 

He looked at her, the genuine gratitude on her face. Her blue eyes shimmering in the.... 

H_ow can they shimmer in basic light? Wait! She's an assistant. Their eyes do not shimmer. Ginger and Carol's eyes are not... Hell, I don't even know what color their eyes are. They have eyes, right? Yeah, they can each see so they have eyes. Then again, neither of them are my Donna.... Donna. Just Donna. Donna, my assistant. Okay, I'm more tired than I thought. Or maybe I hit my head when I hit my back. Doesn't matter. I'm leaving._

He stood abruptly, wincing in the process. 

"Thanks again," he said brusquely. "It's late and... Good night." 

"Good night, Josh," she said, puzzled by his swift mood change. "Are you sure you're okay? Can you make it down the stairs?" 

She followed him to the door as he made his hasty retreat. 

"If I can't you'll hear it in a few seconds," he said then stiffly walked out without another word. 

***************** 

Josh collapsed onto his couch and flipped on the TV to CNN. He had had just enough time to get into the apartment, put his gift down, and take off his jacket to realize he'd already lost his gift. It was around somewhere, he reasoned. He'd search for it first thing in the morning and put it some place safe from himself. His mother recommended from time to time that he allow her to visit and "Josh-proof" his apartment. What that meant he did not know nor did he ask. He normally responded to her chiding request with idle threats about putting her in the worst retirement home in Connecticut the first chance he got. 

He looked at the phone and shook his head. He had promised to call her that evening, he recalled. She wouldn't have worried when he didn't. She was used to his forgetting and came to expect it. It was the moments when he did call as promised that made her worry. She always assumed it meant something was wrong. 

He pushed those thoughts from his mind and focused on the news report. An affiliate station was feeding footage of a hotel fire in Las Vegas current in progress. Josh hit the mute button. The sirens obscured the commentator's voice and that was one noise he didn't need in stereo. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Sleep was what he needed, though he knew it wouldn't come easily. While contemplating those chances, there was a knock on his door. 

Josh waited a moment; perplexed and questioning whether he actually heard it. A second round of taps quickly followed. He stiffly rose from his seat and walked to the door. He looked suspiciously through the spy hole. 

"Donna?" he remarked in surprise as he opened the door. "What's going on?" 

"Hi!" 

"No, tired," Josh replied. "How 'bout you?" 

"Long time no see," she answered. 

"What are you doing?" 

She was wearing her jacket, mittens and winter hat, but she look chilled all the same. The arctic air outside had blanched her alabaster skin to a pasty white while the tip of her nose seemed nearly blue. 

"How are you?" she asked brightly rather than answer. 

"I'm about the way I was when I said good-bye to you half an hour ago," Josh sighed. "Why are you here?" 

"I was in the neighborhood," she said inanely. 

"Donna." 

"Okay," she relented and gave him her stern face. "I wanted to make sure you got home okay. I know, I know. I worry way too much. I'm as bad as your mother." 

"No one's as bad as my mother," he sighed as he stepped back from the door. "Well, don't stand in the hallway. Come in." 

Donna entered the apartment and peeled off her layers. She was still wearing her sweatpants and sweatshirt. Josh looked at the sweatshirt more carefully. She was wearing it inside out--apparently on purpose. A closer inspection of the reverse imaging on the stitching of the wording on the front finally registered with him: E L A Y 

"Did you steal that from me?" he asked, pointing at the letters. 

"Um, no," she said. 

"Is it mine?" 

"Well, in a way," she hedged. 

"By that you mean?" 

"It is," she said. 

"Fine," he sighed and shook his head. He was too weary to care. He'd concern himself with how she got it at another time. 

He returned to his spot on the couch and grimaced as he sat. Donna watched him with keen eyes. She stood beside him with concern in her eyes. 

"Why thank you for offering," she said as she sat. "I would love to sit, Joshua. You sure you're okay?" 

He gingerly placed his feet on the coffee table before answering. 

"Hurts less already." 

"Why is it you are a baby about things that are nothing but when you are seriously pain you act all Clint Eastwood and pretend you're tough? I mean, you do know it doesn't fool anyone, right?" 

"I could be Clint Eastwood tough," he remarked with a quick nod. 

"You have an amazingly selective hearing ability," Donna sighed. "What am I supposed to do with you?" 

"Help me win a presidential election," he said simply. "Look, Donna, you don't need to worry about me. I can handle it." 

"I can't help it, Josh," she informed him. "Ever since..." 

She unconsciously turned her eyes toward the windows at the front of the room. Josh watched her gaze then understood what she was not saying. 

"You're not here because of what happened tonight, are you?" he ventured. 

"It's about a lot of nights and days, too," she said. "Something is bothering you. It's more than just the campaign. I can feel it, Josh." 

"Are you a member of the Psychics Friend Network or something?" 

"The mind is a powerful thing that science doesn't understand fully," she informed him. She stopped short of telling him about Miss Helena, her hairdresser who also was a medium who had been practicing her craft since she was a young girl in Trinidad and Tobago some 30 years earlier. "But that's not the point. I'm your friend. I am, Josh. Yes, you're my boss, but you're my friend, too." 

Josh said nothing. He didn't want to argue with her. He looked at her and saw the sleeplessness in her face that he felt in his bones. She needed another vacation--a real vacation--and she certainly deserved one. But that was out of the question. He needed her, his assistant, for the battle ahead. When that was over, if they were still standing he would consider the possibility of her perhaps taking some time off at a point that was convenient.... maybe. 

"Josh?" Donna said, waving her hand in front of his eyes. "Hey there. Welcome back. Where did you go?" 

"How did both our evenings get torpedoed without any intervention from.... well, either of us?" he asked, shifting the subject. 

"You mean you," she countered. "That I cannot explain." 

"Great, another unknown," he said. "If the new year is going to go like this..." 

"I think it was a fluke," Donna replied, with a firm nod. 

"It better be," Josh yawned. "I've made a lot of plans for this coming year and if they all fall apart like tonight, we are looking for new jobs in November." 

Donna saw the troubled look on his face again. She knew, could sense, that it was not just the uphill battle for the election that was causing it. She placed her hand on his shoulder. 

"You just need to have faith, Josh," she said warmly. 

"So you're saying I'm screwed?" 

"I mean it," Donna said tersely. 

"Faith?" he repeated. "Me? Did you hit your head recently?" 

She shook her head and offered him a puzzled look. 

"Donna, I have precisely no faith in anything lately," Josh sighed. 

"The team, all of you, can pull this off," she said emphatically. "Okay, so it won't be like it was before, but this thing's gonna work out. I just know it, Josh. I mean it. It will." 

Josh could see the hope in her expression. It pushed the exhaustion out of her eyes and made her face glow. She honestly believed what she said. Before he realized what he was doing, the words he tried not to utter spilled over his lips. 

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he said. "He wasn't supposed to do this to us. I signed on the first time because Leo said I could believe in this man; I heard him speak and after that.... I told myself I would follow this man to Hell.... and now..." 

"Now you feel like you've been there?" she asked. 

"Been there and bought a condo," he said as he shook his head. "He put us here. I don't know how to... He wasn't supposed to do this!" 

"He as an illness," Donna said simply, trying not to be argumentative. "You can't fault him for that." 

"I don't," Josh said quickly. "Not for that." 

"Because he let you down?" she remarked. "Because he's human after all?" 

"I knew that," Josh snapped. 

Stress, lack of sleep and months of pent up frustration removed any inhibition he may have held about expressing his deepest thoughts on the man he was finding hard to trust again. 

"And yes, he let me down," Josh seethed. "I know that sounds selfish, but I don't care. I've finally decided that you can't count on anything or any one. Politics aren't pretty. I've known that since I knew what politics were. I know no one is perfect. Hey, I was gonna put Hoynes in the White House because... Hell, because I could do it, and he was the lesser of the evils already out there. Then I heard this man speak and I felt... I felt like I was 17 again and anything was possible. I had something, someone, I could believe in; he made me think that I was wrong to doubt people and... Look, I can't explain it. He just..." 

Donna sighed and softened her expression. Josh worried her in ways she could not express to him. His highs were so high you needed Air Force One to reach him. And his lows... They could swing so deep into the darkness he carried inside him that she feared he might never be able to crawl out. But he did, time and again. Josh Lyman was many things, and survivor was one of them, she reminded herself. 

"Anything's still possible, Josh," she said. "You said it yourself over and over to reporters: This was a private thing made public. I know that you're going to say that nothing's private when you're in politics. So this is out in the open now. Deal with it--it's what you do. Quitting is not in you. You don't know how." 

Josh heaved a heavy sigh. He knew she was right, but he was in too much pain, physically and mentally to agree. 

"Josh, do you want to walk away from all this... right now?" 

"No, I don't," he said. "And I know why he did it. I accept it. Some part of me agrees with it. I'm going to spend the next few months convincing everyone I can in this country to agree with me. I will argue to my last breath the political and legal reasons why he wasn't wrong to do what he did, but some part of me... That's just it. It sounds childish and maybe it is, but he let me down. I resent that he did this." 

"Hero worship from Josh Lyman..." 

"He's not a hero," Josh informed her tersely. "My father once told me, the only heroes we have left in this country are journalists and firemen--and I'm not so sure about the former." 

"I'm sorry. I really am," Donna said sincerely. "I know that you're hurt and angry. You have every right to be. But, he's human, Josh, just like the rest of us. And like it or not, we hurt others; sometimes intentional, sometimes unintentional. That's a part of life. We have to learn to deal with that and accept it. We may not like it, but we just have to." 

"That's the problem," Josh sighed. "How do I do what I did for him last time when now I know, when it comes down to the basics, he's really not that much different than me or Toby or even Hoynes? He's just like the rest of us and for some reason... that feels like a crime." 

"Have you lost respect for him?" she asked. "He's still a good man, Josh." 

"I know," he whispered. 

"You admire him," Donna told Josh. "I've watched you talk about him, defend him, on TV. The look on your face is the same as when you talk about your father. You're crushed because he wasn't perfect; well, that's not fair to him." 

"Everyone lets you down in the end," he scoffed. "They say when a giant falls, it shakes the very pillars of the universe. Well, they ain't kidding." 

"Oh, Josh," Donna sighed.   
She then leaned over and hugged him. Josh stiffened at her touch, and then relaxed. 

"I know know how you feel," she said soothingly. "I really do. You're not alone. It's how we all feel; but it's going to be all right. You guys are going to make it all right." 

"I don't know a whole lot anymore," he admitted through a hoarse whisper. 

"I'll tell you what you should know." 

"What?" 

Donna released her embrace and stared into his dark brown eyes. "I know you guys can do this. That's what you can believe in, Josh. I know I do and I'm not going anywhere." 

"There are times when it seems like the only thing I think I can count on is you," he admitted with a wan smile. 

"Well, you can," she whispered. "Never doubt that." 

Josh gently brushed Donna's cheek with his fingertips. "Yeah." 

As the moment lingered, Donna felt the heat begin to rise in her cheeks and a flutter start in her chest. She swiftly turned her head then rose from the couch. 

"Um, I'd better go," she said in a shaky tone. "I've only got 4 & 1/2 hours before I need to get to work." 

"Yeah, your boss is a powerful man," he agreed, the tension of the moment weighing on his voice heavily. "Best not to keep him waiting." 

Josh slowly stood and escorted Donna to the door, keeping a safe distance between them.   
  
"He thinks he's powerful," she corrected. "At least that's what I tell him. You sure you're gonna be all right?" 

"Yeah, I'm always fine," he assured her. "You okay driving home?" 

"Sure," Donna nodded. "I think a majority the partiers have either passed out or taken a cab." 

"So long as you're using logic," he smirked as he opened the door. 

"Give me a break, it's 1:30 in the morning," she said as she crossed the threshold. 

"It's early still," he said leaning against the frame. "Be careful." 

"I will... I'll call you to check in a little later." 

"Okay," Josh said as he watched Donna head for the stairs. "Hey, Donna…" 

"Yeah?" 

"Happy New Year."   
  


**Up Next: Chapter 15:_ The Primary Thing_**   



	15. The Primary Thing

**Title**:** THE QUEST, The Primary Thing** (_Chapter 15_)   
**Authors**: Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Posted**:   
**Webpage**:** http://wing_nuts.tripod.com**

The chill of the morning air and a dusting of freshly melted snow flakes colored Sam Seaborn's cheeks as he made his way down the hall to his office. His glasses were unfogging slowly as he took a tentative sip from his steaming cup of coffee. 

January was turning into a pleasant affair--meteorologically speaking--in Sam's opinion. The snow made the air crisp without being frigid. The harsh sounds of the city were muffled under the blanket of serene white. It gave his mood a boost, which was quite a feat for crystallized drops of water. The cold outside was infinitely more pleasant than the harsh atmosphere within the office of late. 

"Did you read this?" Toby raged at Sam the moment he entered the bullpen. 

"No," Sam said simply as he entered his office. He shrugged off his coat then dumped the hot contents of the paper container into his hefty White House mug. 

The New Hampshire primary was on the horizon and while there was no doubt the President would take his home state the question of numbers was troubling. For a man who, until the previous May, polled at close to an average of 73 percent aproval rating there, less than stellar results in the primary would deliver a severe blow to the national strategy Toby had been devising with Leo and Bruno. That point was where much of the tempests in the office were started. Josh had been edged in several discussions about political tactics. Sam as well, but he was not as concerned about his position. Toby appeared to be holding the reigns for communication and held the only open channel to Bruno Geonelli's ear for political maneuvering. Sam wasn't sure that was wise, but his objections--like Josh's--fell on the seemingly deaf ears of Leo McGarry. 

"Bruno had my head for breakfast so now I'm having yours..." Toby began but was cut off as Sam continued to enjoy his morning. 

"I wasn't listening," Sam said with a pleasant expression. "This is outstanding coffee, Toby. That new place just around the corner from the parking lot is fabulous. I don't know what they do that 's different, but this stuff is... amazing." 

"Romper Room!" Toby shouted, uninterested in Sam's caffienated joys. "Like Romper Room 10 minutes before nap time!" 

"He didn't mean it," Sam replied with a confident nod. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Josh didn't mean it like that," Sam said unconcerned. "Okay, he meant it, but in a Josh way. He was a little agitated and sometimes his mouth gets away from him. And I'd have to say I don't think he's entirely wrong. Everyone is a little cranky lately. Just don't take it personally." 

"Josh?" Toby repeated, his mood darkening further. 

Toby's face blanched with a moment of surprise then angry red, pulsing bars formed along the edges of his cheekbones. His mouth hung open for a moment then his jaws clamped shut. He took a deep, searing breath through his nose and rubbed on hand over his head. 

"Toby?" 

He tossed the morning edition of The Baltimore Sun onto Sam's desk and glared back at his deputy. Sam adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose before peering at the paper. It was open to page nine--hardly the most important of pages. Then again, Sam thought, The Sun is hardly the most important of papers. He scanned the columns until he came to the one with the red ink circling the three last paragraphs. 

The story was about the DNC and some fundraising, but that was not what had stoked Bruno and then Toby's ire. The last sentences mentioned the re-election bid of the President and how the DNC was coping with the party leader's revelation the previous spring. There had been hundreds of such stories by that mid-December--the interior placement of the story was a testament of what a non-story it had become--but there was something new to this article. There was information attributed to an unnamed source that referred to the President's senior advisors in the Romper Room context that had Toby so vexed. 

"The attribution is 'an official working within the senior staff,'" Sam said. 

"It's bad writing, but I'll forgive this guy," Toby said. "Josh is another story." 

"He wouldn't do this," Sam said. "He'd never." 

"Josh and never are two words I don't use in the same sentence," Toby replied. "We need to see Leo. Get Josh." 

Toby stormed out of Sam' office and made a beeline to the Chief of Staff's layer. Sam sighed and took a last peaceful sip of his liquid heaven before hanging his head and searching for Josh. 

***************** 

Josh stood in Leo's office, his back leaning against the wall as he read Toby's mangled copy of The Sun. The smirk on his face was undeniable. He was not pleased by Bruno's accusation or Toby's glare, but he was not surprised either. Two previous digs in as many weeks at the administration appearing in The Sun, under the same byline of Darren Mellecheck, garnered long, drew sharp remarks from the hired political strategist and questioning stares from the speechwriter. Each time the source of the less-than-flattering portrayal was veiled as 'an official working within the senior staff.' Josh knew, as well as anyone in the room that could be anyone. That the comments sounded strikingly like things Josh had said was something that concerned the Deputy Chief of Staff and predictably irritated the hired guns now calling the behind the scene shots of the campaign, but was most worrisome was Toby's reaction. Shouting was expected, but there was more anger and rage in his expression than such a tiny snafu would appear to merit. 

"You think this is funny?" Bruno seethed. 

"The article or the way your eyes twitch like that?" Josh remarked. 

"Josh," Leo sighed from behind his desk. "You got anything to say?" 

"Sure," Josh said easily. "About what?" 

"Leo, this has got to stop!" Toby shouted. 

Leo's scowl deepened, as he kept both of his staffers in his sights, not sure with whom he was angrier: his deputy for his flip attitude on a morning Leo specifically requested there be no mirth in this office; or his communications director for his hotheaded prosecution of the case. 

"What?" Josh asked. 

"This!" Bruno barked and swatted at the page in the deputy chief's hand. 

"I didn't say it," Josh shrugged. 

"Actually, you did," Sam offered, trying to be helpful. "What I think he means, Leo, is that he didn't call this..." 

"You're not his attorney," Toby said cutting off Sam's explanation. 

"Do I need one?" Josh asked. 

"You'll need a medical team if this happens again," Bruno warned. 

It was the icy, calm tone in Toby's voice that perked Josh's interest. Bruno's dissatisfaction was an old nemesis and one that was as necessary as it was boring. Josh had blown an opportunity to lock up several key states when he fumbled a funding battle over a lawsuit pending against big tobacco. Bruno slapped his wrist and Josh learned his lesson: Don't go off half-cocked over political issues. It was a valuable lesson and was one that Josh was certain he would violate countless times in the future, but for the sake of the campaign, he was keeping himself on as short a leash as possible. It was the hyper-conscious self-censoring that was the main source of his in-office grumbling lately. Bruno's shouting and insulting tone were the man's calling cards. They did not concern Josh. What did was Toby's cold stare. He was one who normally relieved his stress by venting in mighty decibels over minor issues. When he resorted to icy stares and lower tones in an overly controlled voice, Josh knew there was blood in the water. 

"I didn't make the call," Josh said succinctly. "Bruno, your tantrums aren't nearly as entertaining as they were a month ago, and Toby, your paranoia is reaching parody proportions." 

"Toby," Bruno snapped as he grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door, "I'm counting on you--though the faith I have in that is negligible at best. Leo, your people are trying to kill me; I want you to know they will fail. I have no heart, therefore I cannot die." 

Bruno turned deftly on his heel and departed. The room was silent as four men in the room listened to the door slam behind him. 

"You don't normally see that kind of indignation from a man who has no morals," Sam remarked. "A diva on a late night soap opera maybe but...." 

"Okay, enough" the Chief of Staff commanded. 

"Paranoia?" Toby snarled. "You call this paranoia? Josh, if you're mad because you aren't the big man on the campaign that's tough. You want to call people names, do it right here. Going outside to do it.... Josh, there's a reason you're not the one calling the political shots this time around." 

"Toby, I think you're missing the..." Sam started but was cut off. 

"I've got a senior staffer being quoted in the media in ways that make it look like this place is imploding," Toby continued. "The only thing I'm missing is a little team work! I have enough problems with the world out there already, Josh. You want to have a tantrum, do it in the privacy of your own home and do it by yourself." 

"Toby," Leo sighed as he rose from his seat. 

"You're a speech writer," Josh said with acid on his tongue. "That doesn't give you license to be the thought police. Neither you nor Godfather Geonelli are my father; and you're not my boss either so you pretty much has no right to tell me what I can and can't do." 

"Josh..." Sam said stepping in between the two men. 

"Where you're concerned as far as this office goes, as of now I am both of those things," Toby proclaimed. "You don't talk to a reporter for any reason--at all--you don't even look at one without clearing it with me first. I mean this, Leo." 

"Toby, its a non-story," Sam said. 

"Who the hell do you think..." Josh began. 

"Josh, please," Sam said calmly holding up a hand to halt his statement. "Toby, this is not important. Besides, Josh has the world's worst poker face. He just denied this, and I believe him. You know Josh is the last person who would pull a stunt like this for any reason. I think you might be over-reacting to a simple case of slick wording in a report designed to do just what it is doing." 

"This is not nothing?" Toby reiterated. "We can't make it seem like we're floundering within if we want the public to see us as unified and ready to...." 

"This report hints that there is discord among politicians in Washington," Sam summarized. "That ranks up there on the danger scale right along side the weather report that says the sun's gonna rise at 7:05 a.m tomorrow. No one cares." 

"I care," Toby said. 

"Let me get this straight," Josh said. 

"Josh..." Sam sighed. 

"No, Sam," Josh said firmly. "I've been convicted and sentenced. I have a right to face my accuser. I do recall that from a law class. A story is written that contains a summary of a comment I said in a meeting with about 40 people, therefore I am guilty of trying to sink the campaign because I'm mad that I don't get to be captain of the team?" 

"It's more than one article," Toby said. "This is the third in four weeks. Those have been your opinions. Call me paranoid. Fine, but I'm in charge of the message around here! I don't like the message you're sending. Your opinions are unfounded, unwarranted, unsolicited and unproductive. I'm putting a stop to it." 

"You're revoking the First Amendment?" 

"No, I'm putting you under gag orders," Toby retorted. "As of now, Josh. End of discussion." 

"Toby, you want to.... handle me?" Josh gasped. "Is that it? Because I'm a what? A liability? A mole? A saboteur?" 

"You're emotionally unstable is what you are!" Toby snapped then turned his head away. 

A heavy silence fell over the room. Josh blinked several times, searching for his voice but not finding it immediately. The others in the room held their breath, waiting for the reaction, any reaction. They were denied. Josh said nothing. 

"Josh," Leo said hesitantly. 

His deputy shook his head then waved off any further overtures with a dark and dangerous expression as he merely shook his head. 

"All right," Leo growled. "This isn't recess and I don't have time to play referee with my own staff. Josh, pack your bags. You're heading to New Hampshire." 

"When?" 

"Tonight," Leo said, shuffling through several folders on his desk before handing one to his deputy. "Joey's people sent us the latest numbers. We need to get more than 54 percent in the primary; we're gonna win it, but I don't want to fall behind our numbers last time. The comparisons will hurt us. No one's gonna care that we won if we don't do at least as well as in '98. As of this morning, we're at 51. Think you can handle it?" 

"Yes, sir," Josh said then breezed out of the room without looking at Toby. 

"Toby, you were so completely out of line," Sam said to his boss as soon as Josh was out of the room. 

The Communication Director's own expression indicated he agreed. His emotions, the latest round of polling, and a dizzying lack of sleep had gotten the better of him. But that didn't make him wrong, he contended. There was a leak somewhere and this ship was barely seaworthy as it was. Toby wasn't sure how much more water they could take on before they all went under. 

"Get over it, Sam," Leo growled. "No one here needs to be treated like precious china. But he's got a point, Toby. Hardball is good, but I drawn the line at sucker punching the staff in my office." 

"Are you saying that you trust him implicitly?" Toby questioned. "You trust Josh?" 

"That's what I said." 

"Implicitly?" Toby repeated. 

"Is there an echo?" the Chief of Staff countered. 

"So why are you and Cyranno running Operation Chastity Belt?" Toby asked with a flat tone and expression. 

"Toby..." Sam started but then stopped as he caught Leo's glare. 

"You trust him so much," Toby ranted. "He's such a professional yet neither of you can't trust him to be alone with his own assistant for fear of... " 

"Okay," Leo snapped. "That's enough." 

"I've hardly started," Toby fumed. 

"We're done," Leo said firmly as he took his seat again. 

"On that I agree," Toby jabbed as he turned toward the door. "Oh, and you might want to rethink his trip or add another body to the rouster." 

"Why is that?" Leo asked. 

"Because Donna will be going with him," Toby said curtly. "Without someone there, Josh might smile at her or something and there seems to be a pervading fear in this office that such a travesty will bring the universe to an end." 

***************** 

The Sunnday before the New Hampshire Primary arrived and with it yet another snowstorm. Josh had been traveled the length of New Hampshire in the three days he had been in the President's homeland. The campaign headquarters in Nashua was bustling with phones constantly ringing and dozens of DNC loyalists stuffing envelopes and making calls to bring out the vote. The rest of the White House Senior Staff was descending upon the state in phases. Toby was arriving the following day, Sam the day after. Leo and the President would be coming into town later that afternoon to press the flesh and talk with local and national news affiliates at a town meeting scheduled for Monday evening. Just that morning, Josh had picked up CJ at the airport. Her mood was cantankerous. In Josh's opinion, life in the White House was spoiling her. Her gripes and complains about domestic air travel made him consider leaving her in the airport terminal. 

Instead, he brought her to the hotel. He even held the door for her when she entered. That he did not carry her bags should not have surprised her, in his opinion. Still, she managed to become incensed throughout her check in proceedings and along the way back to headquarters. 

There was only so much he could take. 

"I will hurt you," CJ said as she threw open the door to the offices on Main Street. "Do you hear me? I'm serious, Josh!" 

Josh followed in her wake, sporting a smirk. He was fighting a valiant effort not to burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

"How could you?" she yelled. 

"Well, easily apparently," he answered. 

The entire room turned to watch the display. The snow outside was swirling at a maddening rate in the lazy Saturday afternoon; there was a rally that evening and most of the details had been dealt with before breakfast. All that was left was a final meeting with the staff in 12 hours and the waiting. 

"I can't believe you!" 

"You started it," he retorted. 

"I was playing!" CJ shouted. "You don't play fair!" 

"You kind of had to expect that," he told her with a sage nod. 

"No, I kind of didn't," she protested. "It was a simple snowball, Josh. It broke apart in the air before it even got near you." 

"It's an invitation," he explained then turned to the room. "Every native of New England in this room, please raise your hands." 

Twenty of the 30 people lifted their hands in response. 

"Okay, now I ask you good people, if someone--on a day in the midst of weather such as this--throws even a single, ill-formed snow projectile in your general direction, what, if any, is the required response?" 

"Retaliate," said a voice from the back firmly. 

"Thank you," Josh remarked, folding his arms and staring at CJ. "It was a moral imperative. Any dissension?" 

"Yeah, from me," she replied. "I'm from California." 

"It's amazing what you've had to overcome in your life," Josh said patting her on the shoulder and walking toward his makeshift office. 

"Joshua!" she bellowed. "I did not ask you to put snow down my back!" 

"No kidding," he said glancing back over his shoulder briefly. "That would have taken the fun and spontaneity out of it." 

Donna waited for him outside his office. She was enjoying the show and mildly disappointed she hadn't been invited along. There was a frisky mood in the air that everyone--except CJ--was feeling. While Washington was Josh's stomping grounds, Donna could tell New England would always be in his blood. 

"Josh, while you were gone, you had a visitor," Donna said as he approached her desk. 

"I don't want any visitors," he replied. "I have nothing to do for half an hour and that is precisely what I intend to do." 

"But Josh..." 

"No, Donna!" he said firmly. "I'm not leaving here to meet with anyone; I'm not calling anyone; and no one is coming to see me. I'm going to read this paper--Baseball Digest, Donna. It's the Spring training preview; I'm going to miss the entire season this year, so I get 30 minutes to enjoy baseball for the whole year. Those minutes begin now. During this time, no one is to talk to me; there is nothing else on my schedule." 

"I know, but Josh..." 

"No," he said. "Donna, repeat after me: Josh is busy." 

"Okay, but that's not..." 

"No, no, no," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're not repeating. That's what I asked you to do." 

"Actually, you never asked, you just told her," said the woman's crisp voice from his office. 

The voice registered in Josh's ears. His shoulders drooped and his head bowed to his chest in defeat. 

"I was trying to tell you about that," Donna said with a grin as she pointed to the doorway. 

"My mother's in there, isn't she?" Josh sighed. 

"Yeah," Donna eagerly replied. "She's the visitor you said you won't be seeing." 

"Joshua," Anna Lyman called in a tone that her son knew was not as sweet as it sounded. "Come in here, darling." 

"How did I get in trouble?" he asked Donna quickly before he entered. 

"How do you usually?" Donna remarked as he stepped into his office. 

Josh entered and laid his sports paper--plus a handwritten analysis from Marilyn that she had sent him specially--on his desk with a sigh. 

"Hi, Mom," he said trying not to sound too disappointed. 

He did not mind seeing his mother; he was glad to see her; he just wanted her to go away long enough for him to read at least some of the preview and report. 

"Were you being mean to Claudia?" Anna asked instantly. 

"How are you?" Josh asked. 

"Answer me, Joshua," Anna said. 

"I thought you were going to call before you drove up here," Josh continued, purposefully ignoring her question. "The weather sucks; you shouldn't have driven in this mess." 

"Donna, is Claudia Jean available at the moment?" Anna requested. 

"I'm right here; who's asking," CJ said peering around the corner. "Oh, Mrs. Lyman! I didn't know you were in town." 

"It's good to see you, Claudia Jean, and please call me Anna," Anna replied. "Now, what did he do to you?" 

"Okay, let's move on," Josh said, standing between the two women. 

"He stuffed a gallon of snow down my neck and back," CJ said. "He practically drown me like a horrid little boy picking on an innocent..." 

"Okay, it was a handful and it was only after she started it," Josh protested. 

"You should apologize," his mother informed him. "I raised you better than that." 

"No you didn't," he said flatly. "Besides, this is none of your business." 

"I'm making it my business," Anna said. 

"You can't do that," he protested. 

"I just did." 

"It was all in good fun," he said in an exasperated tone as he threw his hand in the air. 

"I didn't think it was fun," CJ said haughtily. 

"There," Anna stated. " Apologize. She didn't think it was fun." 

"Case closed," CJ said with sneer. 

"No, there is no case," Josh said. 

"Don't bother to apologize," CJ informed him as she strode purposefully out of the room. "Just watch your back, Lyman. I will have the last laugh." 

"If you think that a...," he started then stopped as he caught the stern gaze in his mother's eyes. Josh then turned his eyes on Donna, who stood in the doorway snickering. 

"Stay out of this or you're next," he said pointing at her. 

"Josh," Anna scolded, slapping his wrist. "Don't be belligerent, and don't point at people. It's rude. Now, Donna, you don't have to listen to him." 

"Yes, she does." 

"If this is how he acts normally, let me apologize and express my shame," Anna continued. "Not to excuse this kind of behavior, but you must understand that he gets like this when he has too much time on his hands. When he was a child, his father and I had to stop grounding him because we found that he got in more trouble when he was cooped up in the house with nothing to do." 

"You should hear what he and Sam did to CJ's shoes at the President's farm the summer before last," Donna said. 

"Joshua," Anna said and slapped his arm. 

"Okay, what is with the hitting?" he cried then cast his stare back at Donna. "And you can stop smirking. Actually, this is my office. The both of you can leave." 

The two women looked back at him with long stares. He shrugged. 

"Fine, I'm in charge around here," he said in an agitated way. "I can leave." 

"Where are you going?" Donna asked. 

"I gotta call Sam," he said as he started for the door. "Mom, don't talk to her. Donna, don't listen to whatever this woman has to say." 

He left the room shaking his head. Donna bit her lip but could not suppress her giggles any longer. 

"He makes me so proud," Anna said flatly and rolled her eyes. "Donna, honestly, you deserve a medal after all this time. I'm his mother; that comes with an amazing level of tolerance and patience, but you... How do you put up with it, dear? Don't take me wrong; I love my son dearly, but there are times when he tries my patience to the very end. This is not one of them, but it brings back memories of many times (many, many, many times) when he did." 

Donna grinned broadly as she listened to Anna's ire. She also noted that though Josh's mother was obviously not pleased with the initial moments when her son arrived, the woman did cherish him--if not in spite of his quirks than perhaps all the more because of them. Her expression as she scolded him was a mixture of careworn resignation and heartfelt pride. Donna was also aware of the sharp scrutiny she was receiving from this visitor. Anna's surface expression was friendly, but there was something intense just beneath the surface that made Donna slightly uneasy. There was something familiar in that look. It took   
Donna a moment to realize it was the same way Josh regarded her on occasion. 

"He's not so bad," Donna said guardedly. "He's a challenge." 

"Challenge you say?" Anna replied. "Oh, does that sound like Noah! Josh's father was certain our son could walk on water; he half-convinced Josh it was true. As a mother, I had a different perspective. Don't misunderstand me, he's wonderful and I wouldn't trade him or change him for the world, but..." 

"Yeah," Donna agreed. "But. I think I can relate to that." 

"I think maybe you can," Anna said with a generous smile. 

***************** 

"So when are you going to do it, Leo?" Anna asked as the waitress left with their order. 

"I'm sorry?" he replied, though he knew what she meant. 

"Fire him, Leo," she pleaded. "Make an old woman happy. He won't quit. Won't even entertain the idea. Do it, for me." 

"Oh that," he nodded. "Sure, I'll do it... when hell freezes over." 

"I'm seeing a lot of snow and ice today, Leo," Anna pointed out with a serpentine grin. 

"I don't think the president will enjoy hearing that you think New Hampshire is hell." 

"I'm a registered voter and a Democrat," she said. "He needs my vote and my opinion is mine. How are you, Leo?" 

"Things are good," he said believing it mostly true. "With yourself?" 

"As well as can be expected with you refusing to save my son from himself," she sighed. 

"Anna...," he sighed. 

"Leo Thomas McGarry, don't you Anna me," she said boldly. "I know you think I'm being foolish. But you didn't get that phone call." 

Leo conceded that point with a curt nod. He wasn't even the one who made the phone call. I wished he had, but there wasn't time. The job came first. It always came first. That August night in 2000 was no different. 

"I realize that," he abdicated. "Mrs. Bartlet called you as soon as there was information to give you. I'm just glad you didn't have a television on. I can't image what that would have been like--to see the news breaking on CNN. It was hard enough being there." 

"I would rather have been there than to have the governor send a state trooper to my door to keep the..." Anna paused. She needed to remind herself from time to time that those were merely bad memories now; the awfulness had passed. "I sometimes wonder if I it would have been better if no one told me until morning. Sitting by the phone, hoping every hour that there would be news while at the same time praying the phone would not ring because it might not be good news. The damn airports closed; no way to get to Washington until the next day. I sat up all night waiting to find out if I was going to bury   
another child." 

"I really don't know how to respond to that without coming off as cruel and callous," Leo admitted. 

"Good," she said, fishing in her purse for a moment before extracting a photograph. "Then don't. Here. Look at this." 

She handed the old print to him and watched as he blanched with recognition. 

"My god..." he exhaled. "When was this taken?" 

"There isn't an note on the back of it, but I'm pretty sure it was a Fourth of July picnic," she said. "Josh looks about 8 or 9. Do me a favor, I probably won't see him at all in the next 48 hours. Give him this picture. Tell him it's for the box. He'll know what that means." 

The print was slightly out of focus, as was much of that time in Leo's recollection. What he could discern were three figures: two men sitting at a picnic table locked in deep discussion and a young boy standing at the shoulder of one man while listening to the other with rapt attention. Leo was taken aback. He found it hard to believe that he was ever that young himself, not a shred of gray in his hair. What was most startling was the man opposite him. He had never changed. From the moment Leo met Noah Lyman until the days before he died, the man did not seem to change at all. 

"I found it in the attic," Anna said, pleased by his reaction. "It was in with some of Noah's things. There is a lot of junk in boxes that I am still sorting through, but occasionally I find a little treasure." 

"Josh certainly doesn't listen to me like this now," Leo scoffed. "Wonder what happened." 

"He grew up, Leo," she sighed. 

"Not enough if you ask me," he chided. "He did something today that's got CJ on the warpath. Between he and Sam there are days I think I'm running a daycare. But that shouldn't surprise you. Well, this picture is an unexpected stroll down memory lane." 

"I keep looking at it," she said. "I was always so amazed at the way a child as restless as Joshua could concentrate on something when it caught his interest. Do you see the way Josh is looking at the both of you? You could light a firecracker next to that child's head and he's not going to flinch. He likely has no clue what you and Noah are talking about, but he's soaking in every word." 

"Yeah, well, Josh is weird like that," Leo shrugged and tucked the photo safely into the breast pocket of his overcoat. 

"I can't get him that interested in anything I say." 

"Hey, be happy he was interested in something productive," Leo said. "When I was his age, I was more interested in picking fights with my father." 

"Oh, I know," she relented. "I just wish... Well, back then, I didn't think his listening to you talk about politics could ever be dangerous. But, as the years have passed, I can say honestly I would have preferred he was interested in something safer like accounting.... or teaching.... or drag car racing." 

"I've ridden with Josh before," Leo added. "The drag car thing may not be a just a dream." 

"You know what I mean," she said as she stifled a laugh then made herself a mental note to remind Josh to drive more carefully. He wouldn't listen and might even read her the litany of reasons she must cease her worrying, but for her own peace of mind she needed to tell him. 

"You don't have to like his choices, Anna," Leo said. "And really, statistically speaking, the chances of you turning on CNN again and seeing... Well, it's not going to happen again. You can have faith in that." 

Anna shook her head. She knew all this. And even if she didn't, Josh was constantly arguing Leo's very points to her. However, she conceded that Leo was correct on one count: She did not have to like Josh's choices. 

"I know he wasn't the target, but he is all I have left, Leo," she said, explaining herself unnecessarily. "I've spent most of his lifetime my life thanking God that I didn't lose him sooner. But that hateful Carl Leroy is still alive and…" 

"Anna," Leo interjected. "He's in prison for the rest of his life and Josh wasn't his target." 

"That hasn't stopped him," she countered. "He sends Joshua those letters." 

"What letters?" 

"Oh, you don't know this?" she said, glad Leo was getting dose of what she felt when dealing with her son and his idea of need-to-know. "Of course not. Why would Josh tell you that? It would be the safe and logical thing to do." 

"He should tell me," Leo scowled and removed his phone from his jacket and began dialing. "He should tell me right now. We can get it stopped right this second." 

"Can you?" Anna said, placing her hand over his and halting his call. "You can overturn the First Amendment? You can make this beast stop using the US Postal Service? He's a member of a white supremacist group, Leo. They proudly tattoo Swastikas on their hands. Do you honestly think being in jail is going to change what he thinks? I can tell you that he's not happy his partners missed Charlie, but he hasn't lost a wink of sleep knowing they at least shot a Jew. And he's not the only one who sends the letters, Leo. He's just the one who signs his name." 

"Josh told you this?"   
  
"No, Toby did," Anna said. "I confronted Josh about it and he said the DC police know about it but that hate mail is par for the course when you work for the government then made some crack about he and Toby keeping tallies to see which of them gets more letters. It's a contest between them, I think." 

"I'll look into it," Leo promised. "Anna, I just think.... You know, if he's not scared, you shouldn't be either. Josh is pretty smart. I think we can trust his judgment." 

In that instance, Leo's phone trilled to life. He answered it in his gruff tones with monosyllabic responses. The scowl on his face grew deeper as he looked toward the windows of the restaurant; the view of the outside was nearly obliterated by the squalling snow. He disconnected with a guilty expression. 

"I'd like to retract part of my earlier assurance," he said. "The part about trusting his judgement. Your son's an idiot, Anna." 

*****************

Leo blew into the campaign headquarters, bringing a decent portion of the whirling snow in with him. The new volunteers couldn't tell if the scowl adorning Leo's face was due to the weather or if Leo was the cause for the weather. He approached the remaining senior staffers at a conference table. 

"What the hell happened?" he demanded. "You're telling me Josh just up and left?" 

"Leo," CJ began. 

"CJ, I don't have time to hear one of your cover-ups for Josh's lack of control," he roared. "I specifically told him to stay here until after the primary. I swear to god, I'm going to find a way to ground him." 

"Have you been talking to his mother?" Sam asked, hoping to add levity to the already thick cloud hanging over them. 

The look on Leo's face convinced Sam that his mouth would be better off sticking a doughnut in it. "Okay, bad timing," he nodded and reached for a pastry. 

"Leo," CJ said, "we were sitting here running hypotheticals when Doug called." 

"What did Doug have to say?" Leo asked. 

"He found the leak," Toby said simply. 

"He what?" 

"He wouldn't go into details over the phone, but Carl Johnson is apparently our mole" 

"Which clears Josh completely," Sam stated as his focus turned to the Communications Director. "Carl admitted to it. Case dismissed."   
  
"For the moment," Toby countered. 

"And now you're telling me that Josh decided to drive back to Washington? When did he leave?" Leo asked. 

"He left about six hours ago," CJ said. 

"Six hours?" Leo repeated. "And I'm just finding out about this now?!" 

"Leo, for what it's worth, I tried not stop him," Sam said. 

"And how did that work for you?" Toby countered. 

"Well, I'm just saying I tried," Sam responded. 

"Leo, this is Josh," CJ said with a resigned expression. "Sometimes you can't stop him; you can only hope to contain him." 

"So this is an across the board failure?" Toby asked with the hint of a grin. "If the blizzard is less severe further south, they should be half way there. There's nothing we can do except maybe out jobs so..." 

"He drove?" Leo asked again in amazement. 

"Well he certainly couldn't fly," Sam said. "No planes are allowed to take off. Air Force One couldn't in this blizzard." 

"You'd think with all its technology, that plane could take off no matter what," CJ said. 

"I still think its got…" 

"Will the two of you just knock it off?" Leo sighed, the tiredness in his voice apparent. Leo was finally starting to show the effects that the other members had experienced long ago. 

"I wouldn't worry about him too much, Leo," CJ offered. "He's not alone. Donna went with him." 

"That's perfect," he moaned. "Heckyl and Jeckyl take a road trip. Tell me they were smart enough to bring phones? Anyone?"   
  
The guilty stares that ringed the table were not due to lack of knowledge. They knew the answer and for each there was a different concern because of it. 

"I... I tried to stop him," Sam said with a serious expression that had little to do with road conditions and more to do with the close and unsupervised quarters of the two missing staffers. "I tried to call a couple hours ago but couldn't connect. I think it's the storm; I hope." 

With a heavy sigh, the Chief sat down. 

"Fine," Leo said. "Let's worry about the primary and then I'll think of ways to ring his neck." 

************ 

"Do you mind if I turn on the radio?" Donna asked. "We might be able to get something in now--we just passed a city, I think." 

"It was Philadelphia," Josh responded without answering her question. 

"So do you mind..." 

"Yes." 

"You don't want it on?" 

"No." 

"Will it bother you?" 

"No." 

"But you don't want it on?" 

"No," he said again. "It doesn't work, Donna. It doesn't matter where we are. The radio doesn't work. We could be parked on the station's own antenna and we are still not going to get any reception." 

"Are you sure?" she asked again and received the curt glare that was the most clear non-verbal answer she knew. 

She had been nervous about the trip but excited as well. She had traveled many times with the White House staff, but those were always formal arrangements where she just had to be to the plane on time; she had driven cross-country to join the campaign originally, but she traveled alone. This was her first actual road trip. 

"Okay, so how do we pass the time now?" she asked genuinely. "We've gone over everything you want to say and do to Carl but won't because it's either illegal or simply impossible. I'm thinking of car games, but since it's a complete white-out so playing Eye-Spy just isn't going to work." 

"What?" 

"The game," she said. "You know, you play it on long car rides." 

"Never did," he said simply. 

"You never took long car rides as a kid?" 

"Sure." 

"So what did you do to pass the time?" she asked. 

"Read," he replied simply. 

"I'd throw up if I read in a car," she said, feeling green at the mere thought. "That's one of the reasons we used to play the games, to keep us from getting carsick. I remember on time, we were going to my aunt's for Easter an my sister and I..." 

She trailed off suddenly and bit her lip. 

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. 

"About what?" he asked. 

"You didn't play those games because you..." 

"Because what?" he said. 

"You didn't have anyone to play against," she said feeling awkward. "Do you ever wonder what you life would have been like if your sister were alive?" 

"No," he said easily. "It's pointless. She's not. I know she existed; I have a few memories and that's it." 

Donna had conflicting reactions to his response. She marveled that he could be so frank yet she also was appalled at how cold he sounded. She did not think she could be so nonchalant if she lost one of her siblings. In fact, she could not imagine what her life would be like if she didn't have them. 

"I don't think I could have survived or anything if something like that happened to my family," Donna said earnestly. 

"Broken hearts still beat," Josh said candidly. 

"What?" 

"My mother said that to me sometime after, you know, the fire," he said. "I wondered... Well, I... didn't understand why the world kept going on like nothing had happened. My mother explained that it didn't matter what happened to us because the sun was still going to rise and set every day; the seasons were still going to change; and we would move on with our lives even if it hurt. That's just how things go. That's how she said it: Broken hearts still beat after all." 

"Well, I couldn't do it," Donna said, thinking how devastated she was when she arrived at the emergency room and learned Josh had been shot. 

Her own heart felt as though it had stopped cold that night; as the arduous hours of waiting for the surgeons to finish the surgery dragged on, she was acutely conscious of the sound of her own heart--it beat in her ears like a bell tolling for the dead. She shook her head and looked at him, again feeling the surge of thankfulness she felt that he had pulled through. 

How different would my life be if Josh had not made it? 

It was a question she asked herself asking from time to time. It was troublesome because there was no immediate answer, but she would learn one day. If they did not win the election, she would no longer be his assistant. Or, if they did win, they would have at most four years left together. Then he would walk out of her life. The thought caused unexplainable shivers deep in her stomach. 

She realized she had been silent too long and launched into a discourse about her family. Her father had had a brother who died in childhood, something Donna didn't learn until she was a teenager. Even though she never knew her deceased uncle, she said she grieved his loss all the same. 

"That's because you're a sensitive person," Josh said. 

"You're not exactly a walking callous.... all the time," Donna offered. "I'm just saying that I don't know how anyone ever makes it through something like that. I know they do, but I don't understand how it can fade and become history rather than a part of your life everyday. That's why I've decided that my children are going to know all about their family. I'm going to tell them about every family that I've ever even heard about." 

"Must be nice," he said. 

"What?" she asked. "Wanting children?" 

"Knowing enough of your family history to have something to pass on," Josh said. "There isn't a single record that my great grandparents existed and knowledge of every previous generation that were lost when Germany was riding high. My grandfather explained that to me, though, personally, it's not the kind of topic I would haven choose for a bedtime story." 

Donna's face softened as dual pictures entered her mind. First, that of Josh as a child being tucked in by an aging man with a thick accent (unfortunately telling him Holocaust tales). The second, one that caused the corners of her mouth to curve upward, was that of Josh doing the honors for his own son. Then she started to laugh. 

"I'm sorry," she giggled. "I'm just picturing you telling a bedtime story. 'Once upon a time, there was a mean-spirited Senator who tried to tank a health care bill...'" 

"I could leave you by the side of the road," he said. 

"Oh, stop it," she relented. "It's cute, Josh. I know you can be kind of abrupt, but I'd bet you'd be a wonderful father." 

"I had a great role model," he said contentedly. 

"From what I've heard, your father was an amazing man," she agreed softly. "He'd be very impressed with everything you've done." 

"Yeah, he'd have the ultimate in bragging rights: My son runs the country," Josh said. "He liked the President, too. I think they would have gotten along. I can imagine it: my father the litigator and history nut sitting down to talk with President Bartlet. Now, there's a conversation that would never end." 

"See, you do have things to tell your children," Donna said. "Besides your parents, you've got this surrogate family, too. You know the President of the United States; you help run the country. That's pretty special. It'll mean more to your children than knowing 10 generations of obscure names." 

"Your entire family has strange names?" 

"You know what I mean," she protested. 

"Rarely," he sighed. "But let me say, my mother would appreciate your faith in me. She gave up all hope of grandchildren long ago when, as she says, I married democracy. She sometimes wonders out loud what she did wrong." 

"She didn't do anything wrong," Donna replied. "You're one of the good guys, Josh. You just need to be reminded to act like it every so often." 

"Every so..." he said. "I don't need reminding." 

"Well, you can be a little harsh," Donna said. 

"Harsh?" 

"And sarcastic," she added. 

"Me?" 

"On the whole, you don't need a whole lot of work," she continued. "Compared to some." 

"Compared to whom?" he asked abruptly. 

"I wouldn't exactly qualify you as high maintenance," she said, ignoring his question. "There's nothing major, but there are a lot of little things." 

"Okay," he interrupted. "You can stop." 

"Like..." 

"Thank you," he said. "That's enough." 

"I'm just trying to be helpful," she said. 

"I don't need your help." 

"Yes, you do," she said affirmatively. "Like with patience. You should cultivate some." 

"I've held off getting rid of you," he said. "Does that count?" 

"Not when you say it like that," she responded. "And you should learn to take constructive criticism better." 

"This from a woman who refuses to see her own flaws," he commented. 

"Flaws?" she repeated. "What flaws?" 

"Nothing," he said dismissively. 

"Josh!" 

"Donna, you're no different than CJ or Sam or even me," Josh argued. "You're pretty sure you're right most of the time. When anything threatens that, you get defensive." 

"I do not," she said, folding her arms. 

"You're doing it now," he pointed out. "Then you pout, like you're doing now as well." 

"I don't pout." 

"Fine," he agreed. "You sulk." 

"You said flaws," she continued. "What else?" 

"Let's drop it," he said. 

"I want to know," she said hotly. "What else?" 

"Well, you're nosy," he said eagerly. 

"I'm curious," she argued. 

"And your thoughts can be a little too scattered some days," he offered. 

"That's not a flaw," she countered. "I'm diverse. I have many ideas." 

"Well, just don't be surprised if on your 50th birthday your children put you and your many diverse ideas in a home," he said. 

"They won't." 

"They will," he said. "Don't worry. I'll visit." 

"Ha!" she scoffed. "Like you'll even be around." 

"Yeah, I'll probably be dead." 

She gasped and slapped his shoulder as she scolded him. 

"Don't say that!" she scolded. "Josh, don't say that. I was joking. You said that seriously." 

Her voice cracked as she reprimanded him. She recovered quickly, but he had heard the tremor in her tone. He cast a brief glance at her. She was biting her lip and staring at her knees. 

"Okay," he said evenly, touched by her downcast expression. "I'm sorry, Donna. Look, I... I promise not to be dead when your children commit you to a home for the elderly and deranged. I'll even help them pick out a place--something featured on a 60 Minutes expose." 

She sighed and looked at him through the corner of her eyes. He was smirking in the way that brought out his dimples, making her shiver for reasons other than the weather. 

"You make it very difficult for people to like you," she said. 

"When something is worthwhile, it doesn't have to be easy," he said. "Get some sleep, Donna. You're exhausted." 

"So are you," she pointed out. 

"Yeah, but I'm driving," he said. 

"That's supposed to make me feel like sleeping?" she asked. "No, I'll stay awake. I'm here to keep you company." 

"Great, then you drive and I'll sleep." 

"Do you want me to?" 

"No," he said firmly. 

"I can," she offered. "Josh, do you want to sleep?" 

"Yes," he said. "I want to sleep, but no I won't." 

"Your mother's right," Donna said. "You're too stubborn to take practical advice." 

"Why did you say that?" 

"Because you are," Donna replied matter-of-factly. 

"No, why did you say my mother said that?" he queried. 

"Because I'm sure she does," Donna said quickly. 

"When did you talk to my mother?" he asked. 

"Today," Donna said quickly. 

"Yeah, she said she came in 20 seconds before I did so you two didn't have much time to speak," Josh asserted. "When else have you spoken with her lately?" 

"I haven't spoken to your mother," she answered truthfully. 

"Yes, you have," he said. "You've spoken to her on several occasions." 

"That's right," Donna agreed. "But not recently." 

"Not in person, per se," Josh offered. 

"Exactly." 

"Exactly?" he repeated. "So you are talking to her, or is it closer to say communicating?" 

Donna said nothing. She realized her mistake too late. Sam was fond of saying Josh was not a real lawyer, but no one could claim he couldn't argue. She blamed her mistake on her lack of sleep. Normally, she would not have fallen for such a simple set up. 

"You sent her e-mail, didn't you?" 

"That's not of your business," Donna said haughtily. 

"That's a glaring yes," he stated. "Donna, she's my mother." 

"Anna is my friend," she replied. 

"Anna?" he said. "You call her Anna?" 

"That's her name," Donna informed him. 

"I know that," he said. "I know what her name is; Mrs. Lyman is also her name." 

"She asked me to call her Anna," Donna said. "She said that's what her friends call her." 

"And you're her friend?" 

"We're pen pals," Donna replied brightly. 

"You're pen pals with my mother, who you call Anna?" he surmised. 

"Jealous?" 

"No." 

"Nervous?" she asked pointedly. 

"Of course not," he said. "Why? What did she say?" 

"Oh, nothing," Donna said, enjoying the worrisome look on his face and the curiosity in his voice. 

"Donna!" 

"Don't be such an egomaniac," she told him. "Everything in her life does not revolve around you. We talk about all sorts of things. Your name hardly ever comes up." 

"But it does," he ventured. 

"On occasion," she said. 

"And what does she say?" 

"Well, usually it goes something like, 'Now, don't tell Joshua but…'" Donna laughed. 

"What?" 

"Watch the road, Josh," Donna commanded as he turned his full glare in her direction. 

He stared ahead into the dizzying swirl of white flakes, his jaw tight, and the tiny muscles quivering under the strain. 

"I'm kidding," Donna said calmly. "She asks how you are; I tell her you're a slave driver who abuses my schedule and better nature." 

"Well, that explains a few things," he said after a moment. 

"Such as?" 

"Why she stopped her harangue about me not calling more often," he explained. "She's getting dirt from you." 

Donna sighed and rolled her eyes. 

"I don't give anyone dirt on you," she said. "Why did you think she had laid off asking you to call more often?" 

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I was kind of getting worried something was wrong or that she had... met someone." 

"You mean a man," Donna said with a definite nod. 

"She's married, Donna," he said firmly. 

"She's a widow," she said. 

"She's married," he said again. 

"You may be her child, but you don't have to be a child, Josh," Donna said. "Your mother is an active, vibrant woman. If she met someone..." 

"Has she?" he asked quickly. 

"Well, she's having dinner with Leo right now," Donna taunted. "I think that has some possibilities. Sitting together in a cozy restaurant with no chaperons..." 

Josh stared firmly ahead. He looked dejected and betrayed. Donna suppressed a smirk as she shook her head. 

"Oh Josh, I'm kidding," Donna said. "She and Leo aren't having a fling and she isn't keeping some young stud in the pool house to keep her company on cold winter nights. But there would be nothing wrong if she did. Don't you want her to be happy?" 

"She is happy," he said instantly. 

"What if she was lonely?" 

"She has friends," Josh said. 

"It's not the same," Donna replied in a heartfelt tone. 

"You can get used to being lonely," he said. 

"No one should have to, Josh," she countered. "Having a special someone in her life might make her happier." 

"Well, she's got you," Josh replied. "The only thing that would maker her happier is a daughter-in-law and some grandchildren, but we've already had that discussion." 

"No we haven't," Donna said startled. 

"No you and I," he said. "Her and I." 

"Oh," Donna said, feeling the head rush subside. 

"She really doesn't mention me?" he remarked again. 

"Oh for God's sake, Joshua!" Donna said exasperated. "Yes, she does. She mentions you all the time. She's your mother! You are her favorite subject. But don't worry; she hasn't told me anything about you I didn't already know or suspect. From the way she talks about you, it's obvious she loves you very much and she couldn't possibly be prouder of you. Of course, she does worry." 

"No kidding." 

"That's right, no kidding," Donna replied. "She's a mother, Josh. You may be an adult, but to her, you'll always be her baby. She can't help worrying about you so don't ask her to try." 

"You're starting to sound like her," he said. 

"Am I?" Donna said, sounding flattered. 

"You're going to tell her what I said, aren't you?" 

"About thinking she had a secret boyfriend," Donna said suggestively. "Well, what Anna and I talk about is between the two of us." 

Josh sighed. 

"Anna and Donna?" he said, shaking his head. "My mother and my assistant. That just can't be good." 

***************** 

Josh Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff   
February 4 12:06 A.M.   
I-95, just north of Washington 

_It's official. I haven't seen a single recognizable landmark of any sort--and that includes road signs... hell, that includes the road! --in the last four hours. So I'm making it official: I hate snow.___

_I never used to, but I've had my fill. In fact, the color white is going on my list. That's the List Of Things I Could Do Without Ever Seeing Again. It's not a long list, but it's not short either. I mean, I have no way to bring the list to fruition, but my lists are serious business. They must be or I wouldn't make them and remember them. So, the color white. That's on there. Maybe they could paint the outside of the office. Green is a good color.___

_This is unbelievable. Donna's still sleeping. How does she do it?___

_ I can't close my eyes for more than an hour straight lately, but Donna manages to nod off for the last three hours with no trouble. She's so peaceful. I envy that.___

_ I mean, I'm glad she got some sleep--she needed it--but I was sorry when she drifted off. I've missed talking to her. We don't talk much lately, unless it's me giving orders and her providing information or you know, not. But the thing is, we don't have what she used to call "our special time" any longer. There just doesn't seem to be time. I actually miss it.___

_ I admit it.___

_ I miss Donna.___

_ Something else I admit: I'm glad she came with me.___

_ I could have done this alone, but there's something comforting about having Donna around. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because she's one person I know that actually listens to me--not only because she has to (which she does) but also because she wants to. She's interested in what I have to say. Nobody gives her enough credit. They don't know what this woman can do; what she did during the filibuster last year--it didn't surprise me one bit. She can be naive sometimes, but Donna is amazing, in a demented kind of way. She is sharp; she picks up on things quicker than the majority of Congress. I'm only half-kidding when I refer to her as my secret weapon. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her for the last four years. I don't know what I'd do without her some days.___

_ I mean professionally, of course.___

_ Obviously.___

_ I mean...___

_ What else could I mean?___

_ Okay, this is Joey Lucas's fault. Well, that and the fact I haven't slept for even five straight hours since September. And maybe that's why in the few spare moments of quiet I find lately, I catch myself thinking more about what Joey said to me last year, about how Donna had feelings for me that were not strictly job-related. Donna says and does things from time to time that make me wonder if it's true (and I don't even want to get into whatever it was that happened on New Year's Eve); I don't have time for that. And even if I did, it's not my style. Bosses don't date their assistants. It's bad form and just asking for a sexual harassment lawsuit when the thing goes south, like it inevitably will.___

_ Not that I've considered dating Donna.___

_ Because I haven't. Not really.___

_ Not seriously.___

_ Then again, it's not like it would actually be a lot different than what we do now. We see each other a dozen hours a day; we take meals together pretty often; when the President screens a movie every couple Fridays she and tend to go together. But we don't know each other out of the office often--unless it's a bunch of us and then yeah, I frequently see that she gets home. But that's not often any more. Of course, that's because, well, neither of us is ever really out of the office.___

_ And it would be wrong if we did. Go out, I mean. As something other than... well, her and I and our thing which isn't a thing.___

_ Okay, here's the thing: I am her boss. I can't ask her out--even if I wanted to, which I don't. But if I did, it could be construed as sexual harassment. I think I covered that already--damn I'm tired. But even if I did ask--which I won't--and she said yes, the veil of impropriety would be there. As it should be...___

_ God, I when did I get so damn conservative? After all, we are adults. We can conduct ourselves with the dignity befitting our posts. We're not horny college students on spring break. If....___

_ If?___

_ I am not going to do that. There are so many, many things wrong with even thinking that Donna and I could.... I mean, we could. Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure we could. If we wanted to that is, and I'm not saying I do.___

_ I do?___

_ Oh god! Is that what my mother is up to? She's playing matchmaker? I won't quit this job she hates so is she trying an end run to get something out of the deal that she wants: a daughter-in-law?___

_ No, that's crazy. That is not my mother's style. She knows better than to try that. She knows I haven't settled down yet because, well, the entire concept doesn't fit me. I can't settle--I won't; I need this frenetic life; it's why I breathe. I've done this so long, I can't remember not doing it. It wouldn't be fair to subject someone else to my schedule, my lifestyle, my whims, my stress. Look where it got Toby and Leo. They're both still in love with their wives years after they divorced. They have regret. I have enough of that without looking for more. Why would I want to set myself up for that? What kind of woman would even consider allowing it?___

_ Donnatella Lyman?___

_ That sounds like one of those screwball characters in SJ's books. No, Donna would have to be crazy to want to be around me for the rest of her life.___

_ Then again, I do wonder about Donna some times--her sanity that is. I'm fairly astute at dissecting people and their motives, but I honestly don't understand Donna. What it comes down to some days is that I am certain there has to be a lab some place that's missing a patient or test subject.___

_ There's just something about her that... How do you understand some one who puts up with the stuff she does? Maybe there is no understanding her. I don't know.___

_ It doesn't matter either, because I don't have to know. We are employer and employee. Deputy and assistant.___

_ Okay, so we're more than that. We're colleagues. Okay, more still. She's right. We're friends. Yeah, Donna is my friend and that's all.___

_ Friends like I am with Sam and CJ and... Okay, maybe not entirely like that, but close. It is the same, but it's not.___

_With the others it's different. Donna is... special. She's like no one I've ever known.___

_ She's pen pals with my mother?___

_ My mother. Anna Lyman is not a pen pal kind of woman. She doesn't believe in frivolous conversation. What could she possibly talk to Donna about? And why Donna? My mother has dozens of friends she sees all the time, friends of her own generation.___

_ These two have nothing in common. My mother is from a different world; Donna... she might be from a different planet. The only thing they share is... well, me._

***************** 

"Hey, copilot!" Josh said, jostling Donna's shoulder after parking the car in the designated area across from the White House. "Get up!" 

Donna's eyes fluttered open and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. He watched her, feeling guilty her slumber was disturbed but also grateful to have his companion back. 

"We're here?" she said. "Already? Oh, Josh! I didn't mean to fall asleep." 

"Don't worry," he said. "I noted the time. I'll dock your pay. Come on, we've got work to do." 

*****************   
**To**: nalyman@soconn.net   
**From** Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
**Date**: _06FEB2002_   
**Time**: 22_:03_   
**Subject: **The road trip 

_Dear Anna,___

_ Sorry we left so abruptly--hopefully Leo explained. And, just so you know, we made it back to Washington! As you know, when Josh wants to move, he moves. We trekked through the white out (I'll spare you the details because as a mother you don't need to hear that your son lacks self-preservation instincts when politics are on the line). Thankfully, we arrived, exhausted but unscathed.___

_ And then the real fun started.___

_ I've seen Josh do some amazing things in the time we have worked together, but this definitely makes the 10 greatest moments list. For someone people frequently dismiss as having less than stellar interpersonal skills, your son can turn on the charm and finagle just about anything he wants when he wants it badly enough.___

_ Now that part of the fiasco is over, we are here holding the fort in the west wing while the capital digs out from the blizzard. Everyone else is due back a little later. We watched the returns from New Hampshire and Josh is proclaiming himself to by some sort of minor deity. I've told him we should call it a night, but he is naturally refusing to leave. He's awake therefore there is work he could be doing; therefore I must stay as well. While everyone else is winging their way back from New Hampshire in the comfort of an airplane, I sit here and eat Chinese food for breakfast... well, looking at the time, I'll call it a very late dinner or a jump on an early breakfast. It was supposed to be dinner after we arrived, but there was work to be done first. I've told him hundreds of times that he can't go days without sleep or regular meals--which he'll wind up sick and unable to work at all. He denies that is possible. I don't know if that's because he's too exhausted to reason or if he is starting to believe his own hype about being superhuman. Anyway, while I write, we're finally eating. Which is where my private show begins.___

_ At this very moment, Josh is sitting in his office grumbling because his food got cold while he was not sleeping and not eating. I must say, I find it both astounding and hilarious that someone as intelligent as Josh doesn't think of the obvious solution (putting his food in the microwave down in the Mess). No, he'll sit there with his feet on his desk and keep complaining instead of taking the two minutes it would take to rectify the situation. I would offer to assist him in fixing this problem, but it's entirely too entertaining to stop at this point. He thinks I'm listening to him--and I am, kind of--but all I have to do is say "uh huh" or "really" every so often and he keeps going. Josh does have his own reality some times.___

_ I must tell you that the drive here Josh uncovered our clandestine correspondence. You were right about his suspicions. He did wonder if you had a man stashed away some place. I'm not sure I should tell you, but he seemed disturbed that you might. In his mind, you are a married woman. As always, loyalty to his father is paramount. But, should the occasion ever arise, I believe he could be made to understand that his mother is still a woman with feelings and needs. Keep that in mind if any distinguished gentlemen start asking for your phone number!___

_ Oh, I better sign off. Someone is leering at me in the doorway. Apparently I didn't respond fast enough during the last round of griping. He gets so sensitive when he thinks he's being ignored. Hope you are weathering the weather!___

_ -Donna_   


"What are you doing?" Josh asked suspiciously. 

"I'm working," Donna replied quickly as she dispatched her message and cleared her screen. 

"You were typing," he said. 

"Sometimes I type when I work," she said. 

"Were you writing to my mother?" 

"Not everything revolves around you," she said. 

"Donna?" 

"I just was letting her know we were back here," Donna replied. "I don't suppose you called her." 

"No," he shrugged. 

"Then is there anything wrong with me telling her we're alive?" 

"Yeah," he said, perching on the corner of her desk "It makes her worry that there was a reason we might not be. What else did you say?" 

"That's none of your business," she replied folding her arms defiantly. 

"Did you tell her how I fixed everything?" 

"I may have mentioned something," she replied. 

"Did you use the word amazing?" he asked. "Because, you said it yourself earlier. You said amazing." 

***************** 

The hours slowly faded with the storm as Donna finished her filing. It didn't bother her that this was her third time organizing the filing cabinets. She had nothing better to do and no where to go as her roommate called to tell her there was no heat in their building. Remaining at the office was the only way to stay warm. Donna knew she should find a spare couch in one of the conference rooms to rest, but Josh was still working. Taking a break while he remained on the job felt treasonous somehow to her. So, she spent her time processing the mail; answering the phone (all two calls) and popping off an email to her brother Ralph. The White House was still buzzing, but without the President here, the pace had considerably slowed. 

Donna was about to begin rearranging the binders, when Josh emerged from his darkened office. 

"Results yet?" 

"Yeah," he said. "We're winning." 

"I know that," Donna replied. "I meant..." 

"I won't know for a few more hours," Josh said. "Donna, what are you doing right now?" 

"Performing an aerial trapeze act," she said. "And I need complete silence to do it." 

"You know, I have resigned to the fact that I will never understand what goes on inside that head of yours," he admitted. 

"Good," she replied. "Keeps the relationship fresh between us." 

"Keeps the…," he said shaking his head. "Donna, we need to head to the basement." 

"Why?" 

"So I can lock you up," Josh said. "We're turning it into an insane asylum and I've nominated you as the first inmate." 

She offered him her perturbed stare but was unable to pull it off with the needed gusto. Her weariness was bone deep. 

"We need to sort through some boxes in that conference room," Josh relented. 

"Josh," she sighed. "I've had enough of boxes to last me three lifetimes." 

"Well, get ready to start your fourth," he said. "I just got off the phone with Leo and he wants a some old report or something that he swears in in one of them. So, since your organization skill are legendary…" 

"Shut up. Let's go get this over with." 

After two hours and dozens of boxes, Donna collapsed on the old, faded blue couch and took a final swig of the warm beer she had been nursing with Josh since they dove into the boxes at midnight. She placed it on the arm of the couch as Josh reentered the room after treading back up the stairs to his office to call Leo and inform him that their endeavor proved unsuccessful. 

"Leo upset?" she asked. 

"When isn't he lately," Josh responded as he joined her on the couch. 

"It was my first road trip," she said, handing him back the beer bottle they were sharing. 

"Was it good for you?" 

"I'm not sure," she said. "I have nothing to compare it to. We'll have to do it again some time." 

"Yeah, in better weather," he suggested. 

"To some place warm," she said. "And we'll get a convertible." 

"You can drive," he said. "I'll sleep." 

"You are responsible for a lot of my firsts, Josh," she offered. 

"Such as?" 

"My first work in politics," she said. "And all the things that go with that: primaries, election night, inauguration..." 

"Disasters, filibusters, media storms, international mayhem, domestic calamities..." he continued. 

"Deputy Downer returns," she chuckled as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Josh, for being a progressive optimist..." 

"A what?" 

"Progressive optimist," she repeated. "I made it up just for you--just now. You don't realize it, but you're pulling out of your... well, the funk you've been in for so long." 

"Fascinating," he said dryly. "What are you talking about?" 

"A progressive optimist is someone who is a realist about how things work but still dares to dream he might somehow make it a little bit better today," she said. 

"Okay, you're cut off," he said, standing up. 

He placed the empty bottle on the long conference table then returned to his seat. He draped his arm around her shoulders as she lay her head back on his. 

"Josh, are we going to win?" she asked after a moment of silence. 

"I refuse to acknowledge to the definite possibility of defeat," he said valiantly. 

Donna shook her head and looked away, trying to keep the smirk off her face. The atmosphere was so charged with his self-assurance--tired though he was--she could almost hear him grinning. She glanced at him briefly. She felt her face grow hot and red as she saw his dimples. The feeling intensified when her gaze locked on his gentle, warm, excited eyes. 

"We make a good team, Josh," she said. 

"Do we?" 

"Yeah, like Major Nelson and Jeanie," she ventured. 

"You're not planning on parading around this office in sheer pants and a skimpy vest, are you? Because if you are..." he paused suddenly at a loss for words. 

  
***************** 

At 5 a.m., Toby traversed the hall, a note from Josh in his fist. The immediate crisis was over, thankfully, now all that was left was the clean up. Toby idid not think a heart rending mea culpa was in order, but he did want to tell Josh was out of line for the way he had treated him in recent weeks. The good thing about Josh, Toby knew that des[ote Josh's hotheaded reactions he did not take such things personally. 

Toby opened the door to the conference room. The single light on the corner of the table burned, but there was no one seated around it. Toby sighed then turned to leave. It was then that he saw them. 

They were sitting huddled together on the couch. Donna's head was resting on Josh's shoulder; both were lost in a comatose oblivion of much needed rest. Toby quietly left the room and closed the door. 

Leo was fast approaching with a stern look in his hard-bitten eyes. 

"Josh in there?" he asked. "Security logs shows he hasn't left yet." 

"He is," Toby said, standing strategically in front of him. "But don't go in there." 

"Why?" 

"'Cause he's asleep," Toby said. 

"I just got the word," Leo informed him with pleased exhaustion. "Final numbers are gonna be about 61 percent. We needed 55 to get out of there without starting the MS news cycle over again. I asked him to break that and he did it." 

"He'll hear about it later," Toby said. 

"Toby, he's gonna want to know this," Leo insisted. "I'll just be a second." 

"And Josh needs about a 100,000 seconds of sleep after what he did to get here while the rest of us were sitting in a hotel room playing cards and talking about ancient tribal rituals to bring about spring," Toby said hotly, though he kept his voice down. 

"Okay, all right," Leo said backing off. "And, really, it was the President who was talking about the dances for the seasons, not me." 

"But you're here right now," Toby said. "Leo, I think we should leave Josh be for a while. I think we're better off if he gets his head back some before we start the next phase of the battle." 

"Yeah," Leo relented. "We all could use some sleep. You sure we shouldn't wake him and send him home?" 

"I doubt he wants to get back in a car just yet," Toby observed. 

Leo nodded and continued down the hall. Toby turned around and smiled at the closed door. He still didn't see the subtext that so worried Sam and Leo, but the look on Josh and Donna's faces was enough to comfort him. He envied them their peace; there were precious few tranquil moments in a political campaign and Toby felt privileged to have witnessed one. 

Up next, Chapter 16


	16. Simple Answers

**Title**: **THE QUEST: _Simple Answers_** (Chapter 16)   
**Authors**: Westwinger247 and Enigmatic Ellie   
**Webpage**: **http:\\wing_nuts.tripod.com**

The campaign rolled on after New Hampshire. It was a given the President would win the Democratic nomination, so the staff was little interested in the convention results. They concentrated instead on the numbers that counted: Electoral votes. Armed with a plan to run for President while their opponents were busy slugging it out for the Republican nomination, Bartlet's team crisscrossed the country. 

A feeling of rejuvenation was starting. Campaigning as the long shot was familiar territory to them. And while polls showed the President's approval rating was no lower than it was at his lowest point before his MS disclosure, that did not set well with the staff in strategy meetings. These meetings, due to the mobile nature of the office during the late winter, frequently took place via the phone. As February disappeared and March crawled into view, most of the staff was winging its way back to the east coast on Air Force One following an encouraging trip to Arizona, New Mexico and California. 

Charlie Young entered the small conference room down the hall from the President's on-board office to find Toby Ziegler sporting a murderous look. 

"Hey Toby," the aide said with a casual and cautious demeanor. 

"WHO THE HELL TOOK MY PAPER?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Someone on board this aircraft took my New York Times - BEFORE I read it," Toby bellowed as he glared at the empty table before him. "Who's been in here in the last 10 minutes?" 

Charlie shrugged and kept a straight face, forcing himself to see the dire implications of the speechwriter's crisis. 

"Well, I saw Donald Crickmore of the Baltimore Sun in the hall outside a while ago but...." 

"He should read the Times," Toby seethed. "Lousy excuse for a columnist; guy couldn't write his was out of a paper bag if I gave him a novel to copy!" 

"But I don't think he took it," Charlie continued. 

"Fine," Toby sighed explosively. "The amazing disappearing newspaper. At least I have my...." 

He looked around sharply, searching for the small white paper satchel that held a glorious treat he had hoped to savor while digesting the New York take on the nation's news. His search was in vein. The bakery bag was gone. 

"My danish!" he howled. "Someone stole my danish!" 

"It's like a conspiracy, isn't it?" 

"GINGER!" 

"She hasn't boarded yet, Toby," Charlie said knowingly. "She and Carol were with CJ. They checked out of the hotel last. They were just getting here a few minutes ago. I just wanted to tell you that we're going to be delayed a couple minutes due to some bad weather over the Rockies." 

"Fine," Toby pouted, dropping into a chair with a sour twist to his lips. "I get no respect around here. First my paper, then my danish and now the weather." 

"What could be next?" Charlie chided. "I'd worry about the Bill of Rights if I were you... and good seats at the next Wizards game." 

"Mocking me, Charlie?" 

"It's a danish and a paper, Toby," Charlie shrugged. "They can be replaced. As for the respect thing, who would steal those from you? Who would be that foolish?" 

Sam Seaborn appeared in the doorway a moment later, the remains of a crusty pastry at his lips as he feverishly read the Op-Ed piece in that morning's New York Times. Charlie caught Toby's eye in that instant then ducked his head. 

"I'm gonna go play with matches or something," Charlie said, taking his leave. 

"Toby, did you read this?" Sam asked, taking a seat next to his boss. His glasses were perched smartly on his nose and his eyes were wild with stress and anxiety. "Did you read what Bill Goodson said about Seth Gillette?" 

"No, Sam," Toby replied flatly. "I did not. Want to know why I did not read that?" 

"Not really, but you should read it anyway," Sam continued. "He's calling him out. He's telling Gillette to run." 

"Ex...excuse me?" 

"The headline says it all," Sam answered, handing the page to Toby. The headline on the piece was a brief and accurate synopsis of the political columnist's opinion: Run, Seth, Run. 

"What?" Toby said, snapping the page taut before him. "Okay, this is not making my day go any better." 

As Toby mulled over the writer's bold words, CJ entered the room, a copy of the paper in her hand. She waved a fist full of notes off the wire in the air. 

"No! No! No!" Toby bellowed as he read further. 

"Ah, the mating call of Ziegler's everywhere; it must be spring time," she said. "I take you're reading the thing." 

"Goodson's calling on Gillette to run," Sam informed her. "Yeah, we're on it." 

"I know," she said, handing her pages to Toby. "I read it. I also read Gillette's chief of staff's comment. He said Gillette is not going to make a move just because the right wing of the Republican Party wants to us him as a pawn." 

"Well, that's probably somewhere other than this column then," Sam replied. 

"Yeah." 

"He won't run," Toby proclaimed finally, putting all papers aside. "This is nothing." 

"You think he's just doing this to get a seat at the table?" Sam asked. "You think he's bluffing us?" 

"I know he's bluffing," Toby said. "He's bluffing because he wants us to court him. He's not going to run because he knows if he does he's going to split the Party and that guarantees a Republican in the White House. A Republican in the White House..." 

"With a 50/50 Senate and Republican House means he gets no where because...." Sam continued. 

"Because he doesn't have anyone who needs to listen to him," CJ concluded. "He'd be taking his own knees out if he ran." 

"So," Toby said, calmer than he was before, "he's not going to run. He just wants us to worry he will so we'll buddy up. This is a little tantrum. He's doing it because I did the reverse option and put him on the Blue Ribbon Commission." 

"So, we're not worried?" Sam queried, nodding as he found logic with Toby's assessment. 

"I worry about everything of importance," Toby said. "You... you can worry about the unimportant stuff--you seem to be good at that. So, Gillette, he's yours. He's nothing." 

"We're pissed but not worried?" CJ surmised. 

"Of course we're pissed," Sam answered. "But we don't say we're pissed. We just.... We don't do or say anything about it. Like Toby said, we are concentrating on the business of the country. Whatever Gillette wants to do is within his preview. By not paying him any mind, we can knock him down a couple of pegs. Have we heard from Leo?" 

"He's talking with the President now," CJ said. 

"I don't want this on the President's plate," Toby said instantly. 

"Well, you're probably too late," CJ said. "As I was leaving, the President asked about Gillette and Leo called in Josh to talk with the President about it." 

"Why did he want Josh to talk about it?" Sam asked. 

"Well, I'm just going out on a limb here, Sam," CJ said bluntly. "But since he's Leo's Deputy and whenever they want a political perspective on things they call him in, I'm guessing he's our political guy." 

"I'm a political guy," Sam informed her. 

"Yeah, but you guys always talk about how Josh does things." 

"I do things, too." 

"The President doesn't need to be a part of this discussion," Toby said, raising his voice to rejoin the conversation and bring it back to a relevant point. 

"Toby, he can know what's going on," CJ said. "It's sort of nice when the President and candidate has a clue what is going on outside his immediate sphere." 

"He doesn't need to weigh in on this," Toby argued. "Some reporter on this plane lobs a question at him about Gillette and he gives any answer other than complete mystification and we're..." 

"You want the public to see the President as ignorant of the actions of vocal members of his own Party?" CJ asked. 

"I want reporters to see the President pays little attention as possible to Seth Gillette's ambitions," Toby continued. "I just said 10 minutes ago that we don't give this guy any daylight on our stage. None! I don't want Seth Gillette to think we had to brief the President on the proper way to deal with this thing. Keeping him off the page will show that he is not a threat. At this point, the less we tell the President about non-issues like junior senators from nowhere the better off we are." 

"So, ignorance breeds confidence?" she asked. 

"I've had crazier things work," Toby assured her. 

"We have to have him focused on the trip and what we just accomplished with the job incentives in the West," Toby declared. "I don't want any other campaign related thing on his mind. We did well this week. Let's not foul it up by suddenly jumping into a game we don't need to play." 

"Okay, so just to get me on board here, if it's a non-issue, why would he worry?" CJ asked. "We're not worried. Right? You said we're not worried, Toby." 

"We're not worried, CJ," Toby said then sighed explosively and ran his hands over his head, feeling the heat from his reddened face and scalp. 

"Toby, you need to just relax," Sam observed. "Really, take it easy for a little while. Read the paper. Get something to eat. There was great pastry around here before. You should see if there's any left."   


********************* 

"Charlie!" Bartlet called to his Personal Aide after disconnecting with Leo. 

"Yes, sir?" Charlie entered the room. 

"Yeah," he responded as he put on his reading glasses. "Would you see if there's a map of Arizona lying around anywhere?" 

"Yes, sir," Charlie replied but offered the Commander-in-Chief as questioning look. "But I'm sure you can pull one up on the monitor." 

"Well, I suppose," he relented. "But the feel of a map makes it so much more real." 

"Of course," Charlie replied, making sure the avert his eyes in case they unconsciously executed an ill-timed role. 

"Leo and Josh are ready to play out a scene from High Noon with Seth Gillette," Bartlet said. "They think he's ready to cut a deal with some moderate Republicans." 

"Well, that's what you pay them for," Charlie observed. 

"The moderates or my staff?" the President queried. 

"Well, the Repbulicans aren't on the payroll, are they?" 

"Just seeing if you were listening," Bartlet said adjusting his glasses as he looked over some notes Leo had faxed him regarding Gillette's options. 

Charlie nodded then left the room briefly. He returned with a well-thumbed road Atlas of the United States and offered it to the President. 

"Arizona is a great state, Charlie," he said taking the book in his hands. "Did you know there are more sunny days in Arizona than in Florida?" 

"I did not, Mr. President," Charlie replied. "But, with the dryness of the state, I would assume that they would have more sunny days." 

"There are," Bartlet continued. "And yet Florida is called the Sunshine State. They really should base these names more on facts." 

"Yes, sir," Charlie sighed. 

"Have you ever driven across Arizona?" 

"No, sir," Charlie answered. "I'd never really left the eastern seaboard until I started working for you and we haven't been to Arizona a lot." 

"It's big country, Charlie," the President pointed out. "You should see more of it than demographically important voting regions. You know, I've always wanted to drive across the country.... in an RV perhaps." 

Charlie lowered his head, took a deep breath and asked the question that he knew he shouldn't. "Uh... an RV, sir?" 

"The freedom of the open road, endless miles of roads laid out before you like ribbons," Bartlet pointed to the lines on the map. That's the way to campaign. Get back to the roots. Get to know the people. We should do that. Take the staff on a tour that way. I could act as a historical guide to a variety of regions." 

"We have the luxury of Air Force One," Charlie pointed out. "It's, you know, safe and secure." 

"But the adventure, Charlie," the President argued, readjusting his glasses to study further. "This is so sterile. So removed from those who are governed. To be closer to them is the point." 

"Right, sir." 

"Diners and truck stops and out of the way roadside attractions." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Wichita for example," Bartlet began. "We've been there several times, but have we ever gone to the Wizard of Oz memorial? 

"Isn't Wichita in Kansas?" Charlie asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then there's a good reason we didn't see the Wizard of Oz Memorial in Arizona." 

"I was just giving an example, Mr. Smarty Pants," the President quipped. 

"Well, then I have an example, too," Charlie said. "Your security detail. The Secret Service wouldn't been too keen on your little road trip. The might be the first in history to mutiny." 

"It's Americana not some seedy college joyride," Bartlet argued. " The Secret Service would be welcome to join us. They might like it." 

"I think they kind of have to go with you, sir," Charlie observed. 

"The more the merrier, I say," Bartlet replied as he traced his finger along a highway. "And the history we could all learn…" 

"Right." 

"Anything else, Mr. President?" Charlie asked. 

"An RV, a tank of gas and an Atlas of the US.... Oh, and get Leo on the phone again."   


*************** 

Air Force One was streaming along the American skies. The pilot announced that they were five hours away from Andrews and they saw little turbulence ahead and should arrive on schedule. To placate the restless Press Corp, and to keep CJ from opening the bay doors, a movie was started. Sam was watching the movie through a monitor in the room adjoining the press area while Toby scribbled some information down from the recent visits to the West to present to Leo at the staff meeting. 

"Well, the zoo animals are all staring mindlessly at the screen," CJ said as she entered the room. "That new guy from Iowa asked me if this particular Air Force One was used for Air Force One. I told him they built a set. I'm right, right?" 

"You are; it wasn't," Toby answered, not looking up from his notebook. 

"They did a map of it though," Sam interjected. "Looks the same." 

"It's Hollywood, Sam," Toby said. "They could probably find a double and replace you. Wait, are you sure you're Sam Seaborn? 'Cause you haven't given me any drafts with typos in three weeks." 

"I'm sensing hostility," Sam replied, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

CJ took a seat next to Sam and delved into his popcorn bucket. "So, I'm wondering how this movie ever got.... well, anyone to see it." 

Sam looked at the quick disappearance of his long awaited treat. "CJ, Harrison Ford is in it. There is stuff exploding and a hero to save the day. This is a bread and butter script." 

"I know that," CJ replied. "But.... I mean, there's far-fetched and then there's this...." 

"The American Public will believe anything that you throw at them," Sam mentioned. "You throw the Leader of the Free World on the movie screen and portray him as an action star, then they'll go out and buy those tickets." 

"Which is where my point about lacking any semblance of reality comes in..." 

"How can you say that?" Sam asked. "Okay, so it's not likely, but politicians can be brave." 

"There's brave and there's taking on a plane of terrorists," she pointed out, scowling at the screen. 

"Are you saying that politician's can't be heroes?" 

"Action heroes like this," she rebutted then stopped. "That's not my point really. What I'm saying is, I had a reporter just ask me if this plane was used in the film because some director demanded the authenticity, and yet he needed it for a film with a plot so farfetched. This is not believable." 

"It could be on some level," Sam continued, as he moved his bucket away from CJ. "There are brave people who..." 

"Well, I don't know any politician who would hear gun fire and race toward the sound," CJ said. 

"Josh might," Sam observed. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Well, not race toward it," Sam corrected. "But he doesn't flinch. You'd think he'd... Well, you know. But he doesn't. I saw it. When we were in Chicago last time. There was that shooting around the corner. Everyone jumped at the sound and he just.... well, nothing. He turned his head to look, but he didn't seem concerned." 

Toby snapped his notebook shut. "That's because it wasn't a real shooting Sam." 

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, befuddled. 

"The only thing that got shot was film," Toby sighed. "They briefed hotel security and told us. They were filming something for a TV show." 

"Where were you when we got this briefing?" CJ asked, snatching the popcorn bucket away. 

"In the coffee shop," Sam admitted. 

"So long as you were being diligent in your duties," Toby growled. 

"They had this incredible blueberry muff..." Sam began but decided to halt the diatribe after receiving Toby's ice-cold stare. 

"Well, they did," Sam pointed out. 

"So, back to my point," CJ relaxed in her seat. "Sam, do you see the President as being... well, someone who would take back the plane from terrorists?" 

"Well, he could hold terrorists hostage with some Latin or a story..." Toby replied, picking up his mangled copy of the Times. 

"Now, Tobus, are you saying the president is boring?" 

"Need I mention a certain Thanksgiving, Claudia Jean?" 

"Point taken," CJ relented. 

"I think the President's command of Latin is commendable," Sam said as he grabbed a handful of popcorn. 

"Just wait until it's your turn," Toby explained. "In fact, I'm scheduled to meet with him later today. Why don't you join me?" 

"Well, I have a thing..." Sam answered, turning his attention to the monitor beside him. 

"No you don't," Toby corrected. 

"I'm looking to have one." 

"Well, you're not anymore," Toby responded. "You're coming with me." 

"This is more hostility," Sam observed. 

"Someone stole my danish and newspaper this morning," Toby said with a loud snap of the newspaper. 

"Think of them as donations," Sam declared. 

"Donations?" 

"To a good cause." 

"Sam's entertainment and breakfast," CJ chuckled. 

"That's not a good cause," Toby grumbled. 

"If you were an action hero, you wouldn't be this grumpy," Sam pointed out. 

"If I were an action hero, you might not be in my presence," Toby retorted with another snap of the paper. 

"Every hero needs a sidekick, remember?" Sam reminded his boss. 

"Superman doesn't," Toby amended. 

"He's an exception." 

"Yeah," Toby said. "So, what special powers does Typo-Boy have, other than an ability to spell perfect with a 3?" 

"Apparently he can steal your danish and newspaper without being seen or stopped," CJ smirked. 

"Stay out of this Amazon woman," Toby snarled. 

"Amazon women were powerful and beautiful and feared by many," CJ informed him. 

"And that would be a wonderfully empowering thing in my book," Sam observed, "but it doesn't help me right now." 

"Sam," CJ turned and stared at him, "how are we spelling 'go away' these days--with or without a 2?" 

A knock on the door interrupted the discussion. Charlie entered with a nod towards Toby. "The President would like to see you Toby." 

Toby nodded, grabbed his notebook and left the room. 

"Charlie, ask the President if he's feeling revved up to tackle a cell leader." 

"No, I don't think I will."   


************************** 

Late afternoon waltzed into Washington, D.C. The President's transport was still an hour away but business continued in the West Wing. The Chief of Staff's Office was, however, relatively quiet. The same could not be said for the Roosevelt Room just around the corner where the Deputy Chief of Staff was conducting a meeting bridge gaps between the Party leadership and the Administration on proposed changes to the Welfare Reform Act. 

The door from Leo's office to the hallway leading to the Roosevelt Room was open, the muffled sounds of discord being whipped into discontent and then (hopefully) accord occasionally wafted into the room. Leo paid them little mind. If the sound of wood splintering occurred, he vowed he would show interest. Until then, it was Josh's show. In the meantime, Leo was reading the latest briefing on the situation in Argentina and how the IMF was likely to deal with that country defaulting on their loans. 

He was deeply engrossed and fighting off an army of yawns when the trilling beside his elbow registered. He looked at his phone to see the light blinking indicating a call. It was an internal call from the ring but the LCD on the phone registered a long-distance number. 

"Margaret!" 

No answer. Two more tries in the midst of three more rings brought the same result before he recalled she had mentioned something about a dentist appointment. With a heavy sigh and punched the speakerphone button on the machine. 

"Yeah," he answered tersely. 

"Happy Birthday!" the woman's voice proclaimed, no the least bit deterred by his "this better be a national emergency tone." 

"What the hell?" he replied, shocked by both the caller and her words. "Anna? Is that you?" 

"Yes," Anna Lyman replied sounding relaxed and pleased with her surprise greeting. "Now, why do they say hearing is the first thing to go at our age?" 

"Why are you calling?" 

"I stand corrected," she chuckled. "Maybe your hearing has gone. I said Happy Birthday." 

"Oh well....," Leo grumbled uncomfortably. He had made it through the entire day to that point without anyone uttering those idiotic words to him. Mallory was home sick with laryngitis. She had sent him a card, but that was different. She hadn't actually said the words to him. "Is that all you wanted?" 

"Oh, I get something I want?" she teased. 

"I'm not firing him," Leo said quickly. "Nice try." 

"Thank you, but really I called to wish you a happy birthday only," Anna said. 

"I don't celebrate my birthday," Leo growled. 

"You should," Anna scolded him lightly. "Life is something to celebrate. When the days dwindle down, every birthday is a blessing." 

"Well, I celebrate it my way then," Leo said. "I show up to work every day." 

"Yes, all the powerful little boys in Washington ruling the sandbox," Anna chided. "It's all very important and exciting. I know. I know. Leo, you're not as gruff as you pretend, but your manners are deplorable." 

"I am this gruff--you don't know me all that well if you think otherwise--and there's nothing wrong with my manners." 

"I wished you a happy birthday," Anna informed him. "You did not thank me." 

"Fine," Leo sighed, admitting defeat and grudgingly smiling--glad the caller could not see. "Thank you, Anna." 

"Say it like you mean it," she ordered. 

"What the hell are you my mother?" Leo chuckled. "I'm a grown man--and thank you for reminding me I'm an old grown man, by the way. So how is it that you can make me feel like I'm going to be grounded because you didn't like my tone?" 

"It's a mother's secret," Anna informed him. "I could tell you, but being a man you'd never understand." 

"Well, thank you," Leo continued. "I mean it. How are you? And don't say: 'I'd be better if you fired my son' because I'm still not going to." 

"No, no," she agreed. "I wasn't going to. Not this time anyway." 

"Why?" Leo asked suspiciously. "What do you know that I don't?" 

"Nothing," she said mildly. "I decided this would not be a business call. That's all." 

"So you spoke with him," Leo surmised. Anna's pleas to fire Josh were always less adamant after she had had a conversation with him. "You sound different, the way you do when he's assured you he's not gonna get... Well, you know what I mean." 

"Maybe it's the sunshine," she ventured. "Florida is a very bright state." 

"Why did you move there?" 

"It's what widowed Jewish women from Connecticut do, Leo," Anna said. "I think it's a the state's constitution." 

"Whatever." 

"It was the house, Leo," Anna said. "It was too big for just me. All those extra rooms made me lonely. Plus, so many of my friends had moved here and the chance to get away from the awful New England winters was too tempting to pass up." 

"Are you convincing me it was a good idea or yourself," Leo wondered. "You could have just moved down there part time. Deed the house over to Josh if it made financial sense for you. Get a condo down there part time. It would help him out. He keeps forgetting where you live." 

"Oh please," Anna moaned. "Don't give me his argument about the swallows. I don't think I can bear to hear it. Besides, Josh doesn't like Connecticut enough to want to live there ever again. Doing it this way makes the most sense. I wanted to simplify things--especially for him. Someday, I will be gone and a house that needs to be sold is one less thing he'll have to deal with." 

"You're not going anywhere for a while," Leo reminded her. "You're too ornery." 

"You say such sweet things." 

"Only to you." 

"Leo, if I was still capable of blushing, I would be right now," Anna said warmly. 

"Are you saying that you're too old to blush?" Leo asked. 

"Me?" Anna laughed loudly. "Certainly not. I get younger everyday. No, it's just that when you spend the majority of your adult life married to a man who believes bluntness is a virtue, you stop feeling embarrassed quickly. You forget, Noah's demeanor made Joshua look very tame by comparison." 

"How could I ever forget Noah?" Leo responded. "The majority of the New England Bar Association can still hear his voice echoing down the halls of several court houses to this day. He did have a bit of a temper and stubborn streak in him when he got an idea in his head and the decibels always seemed to follow." 

"Well, remember him the next time your deputy says something stupid and loud," Anna reminded him. "I'm not making excuses for him--God knows--but it's really not this fault he is the way he is. He had an.... interesting mentor as a child. Of course, if his behavior is unsuitable at anytime, I welcome you to show him the door." 

Leo shook his head. For a woman who professed no knowledge of or interest in politics, Anna Lyman could manipulate any conversation expertly to her liking. Leo was never fully convinced it was Noah's profession and influence that shaped Josh's career aspirations and ambitions. His mother was a formidable force as well. 

"Well, with you as his mother, I'm surprised he's not as meek as a mouse," Leo said. "You're such a demure and subservient kind of gal." 

"You're being sweet again," she said. "Keep it up and I just might feel compelled to sing Happy Birthday to you." 

"Oh god, please don't," Leo said quickly. "Stuff like that starts scandals and we don't need any more headlines." 

As he chuckled with the thought of his serenade, there was a knock on the door leading to Margaret's area. Leo called to the newcomer with a gruff order to enter. The door opened and Donna appeared carrying a Hostess Twinkie impaled with a tiny pink candle. 

"Sorry, this was all that I could find," she grinned. "The candle was left over from a baby shower for one of the secretaries and the Twinkie is all that was left in the vending machine that looked cake-like. But, Happy Birthday, Leo. Make a wish." 

"I wish you'd get back to work," Leo growled then looked at the phone menacingly. "I blame you for this." 

"I'm sorry?" Donna asked. 

"Not you, her," Leo replied. 

"Who her?" Donna asked, looking around the room skeptically. "Is there someone else here?" 

"The phone," Leo sighed. "Why the hell am I telling you this?" 

He paused then rubbed his hand over his creased face before lifting his eyes toward his other door. The sounds of the Lyman Compromise Machine had ceased. 

"Hey, he's been in there a long time," Leo remarked to Donna. "How's he doing?" 

"The shouting stopped 20 minutes ago and no one called for an ambulance so..." 

"Yeah." 

"He said he should be finished soon and that he needs a few minutes afterward with you," she said. 

"Fine." 

"Aren't you going to make a wish?" 

Leo looked at her with his stern face; she smiled back sweetly and naively. She either did not recognize it for what it was or he was slipping in his old age. 

"You don't want to know what I wish," Leo said after a moment, watching the wax drip onto the snack cake. He blew a little puff of air at the flickering flame to extinguish it. Donna clapped a brief approval and offered him another bright beaming smile. 

"Thank you Donna, dear," Anna said after hearing the exchange. 

"Anna?" Donna said in surprise as she looked at the phone. "Oh, you're talking to Leo! Now, I understand. I'll leave you two alone." 

"Gee, that's very thoughtful considering this is my office and I told you to..." 

"Leo!" Anna scolded. 

"Right," he sighed. "Thank you, Donna. Now, could you get the hell back to work maybe?" 

"You bet," she grinned then exited quietly and quickly. 

"Why do you do this to me?" Leo asked the phone. 

"Because I like to torture dumb animals," Anna chuckled. 

"Now, wait a minute," he objected. "You know, if you weren't Noah's wife... 

"I'm not," she said seriously. "Not any more. In Joshua's mind, perhaps. Leo, I miss Noah and I will always love him, but I'm a widow. I'm not a married woman anymore." 

"So, your dance card's filling up in the Sunshine State, huh?" 

"You wouldn't believe how popular I have become," she said. 

"Can't be any more than before," Leo said. "You were always a hot ticket, Anna. You still turn men's heads wherever you go. Throughout history, nations have gone to war over women like you as a form of appreciation." 

"Why, Mr. McGarry," Anna responded coquettishly. "You shouldn't say things like that. Might lead a woman to the wrong conclusion." 

"The only conclusion I'm looking for is to win this election," Leo said, feeling his face go a bit red. "After that... Well, who knows." 

"Well, this election thing must be a breeze," Anna said. "After all, I've been told that you have the greatest living master politician on your staff. Surely that makes things easier." 

"You heard that did you?" Leo asked feigning surprise. "Yeah, I go home at night and sleep well with that bit of information." 

"Am I sensing some disagreement with that depiction?" 

"Not enough to fire him." 

"Well, I tried." 

"Yeah, again," Leo observed. "And here I thought you said you were calling just for me." 

"I am calling just for you," Anna reassured him. "I merely got side tracked...." 

There was a brief rap on Leo's door as it swung inward. Josh appeared looking weary but victorious. 

"Leo, we just finished...," he began instantly without realizing Leo had another conversation in full swing. 

"It's just that the sound of your husky voice makes me loose my concentration," Anna continued. 

Josh stopped dead in his tracks and stared in horror at Leo then the phone and back to Leo again. 

"What the hell?" he exclaimed. 

"Darling! 

"M... Mom?" Josh asked shocked. 

"How'd the meeting go?" Leo asked back in his business persona. 

"How did...," Josh started but was unable to complete a sentence. He looked back at the phone, the words he heard echoing in his head. "Are you flirting with Leo?" 

"I'm wishing him a happy birthday, darling," Anna said brightly. 

"It's no big deal," Leo said shrugging off the appalled look he was receiving from his deputy. "Take a seat, Josh. You look like you need it." 

"No... no big deal?" he repeated as he sank into a chair opposite Leo's desk. "Marilyn singing to Jack Kennedy was no big deal either. Leo, you're flirting with my mother." 

"I'm what?" Leo snapped. "No, I'm not. I'm... We're... We're just talking." 

"I walked in on," Josh buried his face in his hands. "God, I don't know what.... I don't think I want to know." 

"This is my office," Leo reminded him. 

"Good point," Josh nodded. 

"Joshua, did you remember it was Leo's birthday?" Anna asked. 

"Yeah." 

"Did you wish him a Happy Birthday?" 

"No," Josh said, still looking and feeling sick. 

"Why not?" his mother asked sternly. 

"Because he asked me not to," Josh said truthfully. 

"That's why I won't fire him," Leo said directly to the phone. 

"She asked you to fire me?" Josh gasped then turned his voice toward the phone. "You asked him to fire me?!" 

"It's no big deal," Leo said. "She does it all the time." 

"Well, you boys have work to do," Anna said, feeling her time to retreat had arrived. 

"Yeah." Leo agreed. "Anna, it was lovely speaking with you. Warn me the next time you're gonna call." 

"Next time, I'll call you at home," she promised. 

"You'll what?!" Josh cried. 

"Good night, darling and take care," Anna said sweetly. "Leo, happy birthday." 

"Yeah," Leo responded then stabbed the button disconnecting the call. "Now, the meeting..." 

"The...," Josh looked at Leo for a moment, trying to recall why he had come to the office. "Okay, this just.... This is disturbing..." 

"Get over it," Leo said tersely. "The meeting?" 

"Uh, the meeting?" Josh said, shaking his head and forcing his focus back to the simple business of a schism in the party. "Right. What meeting?" 

***************** 

It took two weeks. 

Toby refused to share Josh and Leo's fears of Seth Gillette. He won Bruno over to his side so campaign related meetings were short affairs. When the team broke, they did so along very definite lines. Toby was mumbling to himself as he left one such meeting. 

"What was that?" Sam asked as he followed his boss to the Communication's Bullpen. 

"Rasputin was a fraud," Toby crowed. "A fake, Sam. He bamboozeled a monarchy into ruin. Leo and Josh as as guilible as the Czarina." 

"Well, that's a simplistic view of history," Sam said. "I agree with you that Leo and Josh are... preoccupied with a certain senator whose name I really don't want to drag into a conversation out of..." 

"Seth Gillette with mighty fangs and a fearsome sword," Toby chuckled. "They're as bad as you with your... Never mind." 

"Toby?" 

"Never mind," he said strolling into his office. "Confidence, Sam. That's what we need. We need more confidence and less caution. We will win this thing. We will win it because we are the team with the goods. And I..." 

Josh hurried into the bullpen, his cellphone attached to his ear. 

"Toby," he said, snapping his fingers. 

"What?" 

"Sam, get in there," Josh said with a vehement point toward the TV showing CJ's briefing currently in progress. 

"What's going on?" Sam asked. 

Josh continued to listen to his caller for a second then snapped the phone shut. 

"He jumped," Josh said with a stern look at Toby. 

***************** 

"CJ," Katie Meyers of the LA Times shouted. "Can you comment on allegation that the President is reconsidering the HUD subsidies for..." 

"Katie, if this is that unnamed source again, all I can say is that unnamed sources like to be unnamed because they can't verify what they are talking about," CJ replied. "The Secretary already spoke about this and really, I've got nothing to add." 

"Is there any reason the President's schedule for Easter has the egg hunt an hour later than normal?" Jeff Bains of the New Hampshire Chronicle asked. 

"Yeah, this year Toby Ziegler is going to dress up and distribute candy," she quipped. "It's gonna take us the extra time to get him into the bunny suit." 

"CJ," Danny Concannon asked as Sam Seaborn slipped into the room to tried to catch CJ's eyes. "Seth Gillette is announcing in one hour that he is seeking a third party nomination for the Presidency and will be taking the moderate Republicans and a sizable voting block of Democrats to support him." 

CJ looked down at the podium and in her peripheral vision stole a glance at Sam whose expression spoke volumes of panic behind a calm facade. 

"What of it?" 

"Well, you got a comment?" Danny asked. 

"Sure," CJ said with a shrug. "I'm not voting for him. Okay, that's all for now. I'll be back at 4 unless any of you have suggestions on how to get Toby into that bunny suit."   


  


**Up next--**   
**_ Chapter17: Southern Exposure_**


	17. Southern Exposure

**Title: THE QUEST**, **Southern Exposure** (_Chapter 17_)   
**Authors: ** Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger 247   
**Posted: **January 5, 2002   
**Homepage**: **http//:wing_nuts.tripod.com**

"How's he doing?" President Bartlet asked as he returned from his meeting with the Middle East advisors. As he breezed into the reception area to the Oval Office, he carried with him his briefcase and a harried look that said if Syria were a person it wouldn't be invited to the first barbecue of the year at the Bartlet farm. 

Leo leaned back on Charlie's desk intently watching the TV; the set was tuned to C-SPAN as it broadcast a subcommittee hearing on health care reform and provisions of the Family Health and Wellness Act passed several years earlier. The Act had come under scrutiny after an inflamatory report in a Florida paper accused the White House of some dirty dealing following Senator Stackhouse's filibuster. In light of that, a subcommittee was investigating. Today was the White House's pointman on the Act's turn to get roasted. Several members of the committee had taken the hearings as a chance to reopen the failed case against the President. Knowing that was coming, Josh had been advised to bring White House counsel with him. 

"Not bad," Leo said, his tone grave. "He brought Ainsley Hayes with him." 

Josh's temper was legendary in some circles, and the bating occurring during questioning had been merciless but ineffective. The questions were just then turning, as they had with others, from the subject at hand, to the President and his involvement in the creation of the health care provisions and spending plan. But, rather than stick to the fact, several members were taking the opportunity to score some final, vindictive and cheap points in prosecuting the President. 

Josh's testimony worried the Chief of Staff because of what he might say. Leo knew better than anyone that his deputy had a knack for not keeping his mouth in his pocket. Josh had not been in a cooperative mood as he left the office for the Hill that morning, despite Ainsley's cheerful prodding. 

"He's behaving?" Bartlet surmised. "Leo, I told you he'd be fine. He told you he'd be fine. Ainsley, I'm sure, told you he'd be fine." 

"He isn't speaking to Ainsley," Leo scowled. "Not once. No conferencing, no pauses, no recesses. Josh is doing this by himself." 

"He's been prepped well," Bartlet offered. "He knows the bill. Leo, you're acting like a nervous father at his son's first Little League game." 

"This isn't a game, sir," Leo said. "One wrong comment and everything we put behind us in the winter ends up in our faces again. We're picking up speed now. We don't have the time or space to manuever around a speedbump curtesy of Josh's mouth." 

"Have some faith," Bartlet smiled. "And just remember, that you're the one who hired him." 

"I'm just saying, wouldn't it be nice if Josh pretended he was speaking to the attorney and taking this seriously once in a while?" 

"Josh knows how to conduct himself like a professional." 

"Very well," Leo nodded. "But that's never stopped him from acting like his father's son." 

"That a bad thing?" 

"There are moments," Leo said shaking his head. 

****************** 

"So, Mr. Lyman are you saying...." Representative David Huntsworth (R- West Virginia) began. 

"If you are having trouble remembering what I said, you can have the transcript read back," Josh said casually, as he took a sip of water from his glass. "And if you'd care to look at the agenda, you'd see what the hearing is supposed to be about. That might help you keep your in questions on track and in understanding my answers." 

In that instant, a soft tapping of a pencil on a notebook served as a reprimand. Ainsley's signals were subtle but unquestionable. She was reminding Josh yet again to remain calm. It had worked, miraculously, throughout the morning. Josh had answered dozens of questions, many repetitious--a few completely irrelevant to the proceeings--without a single outburst of the likes that would give Leo an ulcer. While that part of his performance pleased Josh, what gratified him more was the perplexed look on House members faces as he answered every question without consulting counsel. It kept them more rattled than the proceedings had him and that was a victory in Josh's book. 

"That will be enough of that, Mr. Lyman," the Chairman said. "Mr. Huntsworth, your time has elapsed." 

"If it pleases the Chairman, I have only two more questions," Huntsworth said his toothy grin looking colder than ever. "I have had two interuptions that did stall my questioning." 

"Would the witness object to remitting one minute to the gentleman from West Virginia for questioning," the Chairman asked. 

"He most certainly would," Ainsley said flatly, speaking for the first time all morning. "Gentleman, the rules were set by you. It appears that you insist on breaking them, but don't ask us to give you our blessing." 

**************** 

"Did she and Josh ever study law together," Bartlet said with a sly grin. "Leo, I thought you were worried about how the committee would react to Josh's answers. I think Gibson and Dearborn nearly gave themselves whiplash just now." 

"It's a set up," Leo said cautiously. 

"What makes you say that?" 

"Gut feeling," Leo replied. 

************** 

Ainsley tersely admonished the panel for their actions, then graciously assented to the questions. Josh's expression remained bored throughout the exchange. It had been her idea for Josh to not use the normal delaying tactics of consulting with counsel before some questions. They had gone over the relevent questions pertaining to the Act and done some prep-work on the irrelevant ones that might crop up to score some political points or be pitched to restart the stalled news cycle. There was nothing Josh wasn't prepared to answer. 

But that didn't mean a stupid question wouldn't crop up. 

Huntsworth's had shifted his focus from the funding allotted for neurological disease to the President himself. Josh knew nothing more about the President's health than what was reported to the public during disclosure briefings. Huntsworth found this unbelievable--that someone who had unlimited access to the President wouldn't know more details than those the public knew. He was narrow-minded inquisitor with a fuse much shorter than anyone else in the room. 

After a long, seemingly unending preface to a question--one which Josh did lose track of hearing as the near monotone of the man's voice was maddening--the word Rosslyn spilled over the Congressman's lips. Josh heard the name of the town and cocked his head to the side with his first sign of interest. 

***************** 

"Uh oh," Leo said, leaning forward as Toby and Sam entered the room. 

"Leo, did you..." Toby started to say but stooped at Leo waved a hand to silence him. 

"I've got in on here just like you," Leo said to Toby. 

"He's not going to actually ask Josh about...," Sam began. 

"Shh," Leo shushed him as the Huntsworth continued. 

***************** 

"... so it would seem at that time, he did not disclose the condition," the Congressman continued. "So, my question to you..." 

"Mr. Lyman can't possibly answer anything about the President's medical condition that evening," Ainsley interupted. "Nor should he as it has nothing to do with the Family Health and Well-" 

"My question is..." Hunstworth continued unhindered. 

"Ill advised," Ainsley snarled. "We did not agree to allow you extra time so that you could go on..." 

"I am merely questioning whether or not the President's response that night to an ER nurse...." 

"I wouldn't know," Josh said firmly, overriding Ainsley's firm tapping on the notebook. "I was a little preoccupied, you know, bleeding from the bullets bought in your hometown, Mr. Huntsworth, by several of your constituents--the ones who shot the President and myself, in an attempt to kill a young man they didn't like because he's black. They belonged to West Virginia White Pride--they donated to your re-election campaign." 

**************** 

There was a deep silence in the outter office as the senior staffers looked at each other then back at the TV. Each man stared at the scene where the Chairman was hammering his gavel incessantly on the bench in an effort to restore some order to the room. Huntsworth looked as though he had swallowed a bee--so did Greville for that matter. Josh appeared composed and almost amused as he shrugged and remained relaxed in his seat. 

"That wasn't rehearsed," Sam said breaking the silence. 

"No, I don't suppose it was," Toby said rubbing his brow. 

***************** 

"Yeah," Josh said quietly as he leaned toward Ainsley. "Now, I'm having fun." 

"You know, so am I," she nodded. "But don't ever do that again or I'll slap you." 

Josh looked down to hide his grin, taking the reprimand as a compliment. He wished he could see the look on Toby's and Sam's faces as they watched the proceedings. It was thanks to Sam that Josh knew the information about Huntsworth's campaign contributors. It was unearthed when Sam was urging Josh to sue the Klu Klux Klan after the shooting. In the deluge of information the FBI had pulled in the hours immediately following the shooting, IRS records were uncovered. 

There were several Congressman and Senators who had recieved donations of varying sizes from the West Virginia hate group. The money, research indicated, had been from the Klan but funneled to various campaigns--sometimes unknown to the candidate, sometimes not--via less well-known organzations and affiliations. Josh had been holding Huntsworth's secret for several years, unsure if he would ever need it. He made a mental note thank Sam for his efforts at some point. Though the lawsuit never was initiated--though part of Josh dearly wished it had--the information had been invaluable. He knew the next day's headlines would not focus the President or MS. The hunt would be on in the press for questionable campaign contributions--particularly those of every member of the House committee who insisted on re-investigating the President. 

***************** 

The days after the hearings brought the normal commotion to Leo's office. When the Chief of Staff arrived one morning a week after the heaings, there was an unexpected yet welcomed message waiting for him. Leo was forced to admitt Josh's testimony had gone better than anticipated, but that didn't make the Chief of Staff any more tolerant of his deputy's unrelenting ego. He liked having Josh around, but he liked sending him away once in a while, too. Leo was finishing formulating the plan when there was a curt rap on his door. 

"Yeah," he shouted. 

Toby entered holding a folder and a questionable grin. 

"I know that look," Leo said. "Painful, isn't it?" 

"I like it when we look good," Toby said, sitting opposite Leo's desk. "I like it when we do good. I love it when we do both." 

"You just have a hard time accepting that this time it was Josh who did it," Leo finished the thought. "Really, Toby. I understand. When the CNN poll showed our favorables were up six points, Josh was in here. I don't want to bring the guy down when he deserves the accolades, but there are times when I can only take so much of him being pleased with himself." 

"He only does that around us," Toby remarked, oddly sage and understanding in his assessment. "Though, why I can't figure." 

"I know," Leo said. "What do you have?" 

"New numbers," Toby said, offering Leo the folder. "I know we said we needed to put the President at the forefront of the campaign and downplay the staff. Last time out, we all got to be minor celebrities from time to time." 

"Notoriously," Leo said with a sour expression. "You want to change things?" 

"I want to run with the steam we have," Toby said. "Bruno disagrees, but I see a chance for some spot victories that will give us a little bump here and there. I don't want anything national. I just think in some places where our numbers are better than expected but still not.... fabulous that we should do little things." 

"Meaning?" 

"Short trip to push the education initiative," Toby said. 

"Who would go?" 

"Josh," Toby said. "This is not me asking to have him removed from sight--though there have been times when I would have paid for that--this is good politics. It's a simple and efficient way to, at best, shore up some unexpected support and, if not that, then worry the Republicans about their popularity in those regions. It also will force Gillette to spend money that he doesn't have in trying to get heard in these places. The sooner we knock out his bank roll, the soon he takes a nap." 

Leo considered Toby's words then looked at the polling data. This was an independent poll done for Toby. The numbers were clear: the House was starting to look like the bad guy; the administration appeared to be cooperating with stoic patience; and the President's medical condition was beginning to bore the public. 

"There are other numbers here," Leo remarked as he delved furthering into the report. 

"Yeah," Toby said. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." 

"Toby, you didn't!" 

"I like to know who should stand next to the President and who shouldn't for big events," Toby shrugged. "Sam will be surprised by some of what's in there." 

"And you're going to enjoy telling him what all this means," Leo remarked with a rueful shake of his head. 

Toby grinned. Telling his deputy that he was considered "pretty" and "scholarly" was a pleasure Toby wanted to savor. They were not insults by any measure, but when put against Toby's ratings as "distinguished" and "authoritative," Sam's image with the public looked less than impressive. 

"But that's not the point now," Toby said, returning to the reason he had gone to Leo's office. "We send Josh to a few places; he comes off good with women's groups. Even before yesterday, he was popular among females in nearly all demographics. I say we use it." 

"Women like Josh?" Leo queried in disbelief. 

He had heard the statement before and never knew what to make of it--any more than he did the ragtag fan club that appeared from time to time at public events chanting his name. 

"Yeah," Toby grimmaced. "I don't understand it either, but it seems either they want to mother him or they want to sleep with him." 

"Well, those are some conflicting urges," Leo scowled. "Where do you get this stuff?" 

"That last bit is from a poll in USA Today published this week," Toby admitted. "It doesn't say intelligent women." 

"Toby, I think we're in big trouble if this nation that has a measurable amount of the female population who are that interested in Joshua Lyman," Leo growled. 

"I agree," Toby said. "It's one of the sick parts of our country that I think we need to spend more time correcting, but it's also tool I can use right now." 

"Bruno doesn't like it?" 

"No," Toby said. "He wants only the President's face on the campaign; a continuing demonstration of his strength and command." 

"You want to show the guy has good people surrounding him?" 

"I want the public to see what they like and right now some of them like Josh." 

"Josh is not running for president," Leo stated then paused. "Thank god for that." 

"Illinois, Ohio and Kentucky," Toby said firmly. "That's all I'm saying. Three days--four at the outside. We need some White House presence in several districts right now--we've been toying with the idea for weeks. Let's pull the trigger. Brief trip. Education stops and some stuff with the women's shelfters maybe to coincide with the signing of the changes to the Violence Against Women's Act. They are legitimate issues that deserve our attention and if we happen to give it some attention in some vital places... Ohio is the most important stop; Kentucky the least but..." 

"Kentucky is important," Leo said, offering Toby the message that started Leo's day. 

Toby read for a few minutes, a troubled snicker emmanating from his mouth as he rubbed his hand over his face. 

"Thomas Thoreau?" Toby asked. "He's... He's a Republican." 

"He's a Democrat," Leo argued. 

"He's a half-crazy, fairly moderate Republican," Toby countered. 

"In Kentucky, that means he's a Democrat," Leo said. "He's a former governor..." 

"He was the lieutenant governor 15 years ago and assumed office when the real governor died in the middle of the term," Toby reminded him. 

"And thus he became the governor," Leo said. "I know he's kind of peculiar." 

"He's a loon," Toby said. 

"He's... individual," Leo relented. "I know he doesn't usually pay any attention to the Party platform and frankly hasn't a clue what side of the political spectrum he's on for any given issue. But, he's friendly to us; he's not dangerous in any way. He'll carry water for us if we ask and right now he wants to open his wallet." 

"He asked for me?" Toby remarked, reading the message again. 

"You initially and after yesterday, he wants to meet Josh," Leo said. "So it's women and 60-year-old retired Kentucky governors who like him now." 

"Did he say Thoreau happen to say he'd only give his check to the President's Jewish contingent?" Toby asked. "That's what he called me the last time we met. I'm not saying I find fault with that. There is some truth in the statement; its just that the guy is, as I said, half-crazy..." 

"He's rich and he's a friend who doesn't want anything but a visit," Leo said. "I checked it out, Toby. This is a gift. He wants two things. He wants to support the President--and this guy is popular so I'm not going to stop him. He also wants to talk about funding some ads--doesn't care about the content so long as they don't make Kentucky sound like a bad place. I think we can do that. What do you say?" 

Toby paused and thought for a moment. 

"I'll call you from Lexington," he said with a nod. 

***************** The rental car sped down the long, nearly empty highway. Two of the three occupants were involved in a discussion, had been since the car left the hotel. Josh, seated in the passenger seat and Donna behind him, continued to argue over Donna's work anniversary. Toby tried to drown out the cacophony by turning up the NPR program full blast. The volume in their voices rose to match the radio. Toby told them what he thought of the discussion and would they shut up. 

That lasted for a record three minutes. 

Thankfully for Toby, they came upon the driveway to the Anti-Bellum Manor House belonging to one of the Democratic Party's biggest contributors - the Thoreau family. The Thoreau's had been contributors since the early days of the Party and Josh and Toby were dispatched to the Kentucky residence by Leo to finalize last minute details for a fund raiser that the First Lady was attending the next evening. 

Donna marveled at the luscious rose bushes that lined the lengthy driveway. She also imagined that this driveway once was the way for sons to come home from the Civil War and that their family and loved ones were standing on the grand steps of the front porch anxiously awaiting their arrival. 

"Did you know," Donna began, "that the name of this house La Maison de la Fleur means 'The House of Flowers?" 

"I did you know that I really don't care," Josh replied. 

"And," she continued, "in the early days of the Kentucky Derby they supplied the roses that blanketed the winning horse." 

"Again, let me express my unwaivering disinterest," he answered. 

"You're not listening because you just don't want to admit that you missed our anniversary." 

"Our anniversary is next week,"Josh said firmly. "You need to accept that, Donna. I'm the one who hired you so I know when it was. I get to determine these things. Why you insist on arguing..." 

"Correcting you," she corrected him. 

"I don't know why I keep you around." 

"Because I'm witty and erudite." 

"You're something," he relented. "That I know." 

"Would you two just shut up," Toby growled. "I have listened to this idle prattle from the two of you about every little and insignificant thing under the sun for the last hour and believe me, I seriously contemplated dumping your bodies aside the road twenty miles back." 

Toby pulled the car around the magnificent fountain and parked in front of the steps. The trio exited the car and the enormous oak door swung open and a platinum-haired woman emerged. 

"You must be from the White House," the lady said with a graceful southern drawl. "My, my. I never thought that some Yankees would look ever so pleasant on the eyes. I'm Blanche Thoreau." 

"Josh Lyman," he replied, removing his sunglasses. "This is Toby Ziegler." 

Donna cleared her throat and glared at her boss; Josh placed his sunglasses in his breast pocket. 

"Well," Blanche smiled, "The Governor is out back at the horseshoe pit. Thomas is rather eager to meet you. If you just enter the foyer, Amanda will show you where it is." 

Josh and Toby nodded their thanks and ascended the stairs towards the interior of the house. Donna was quickly on their heels, but an arm reached out and stopped her. 

"Now, honey child," Blanche said, "you don't need to bother yourself with those men-folk. All they're gonna talk about is politics. I usually leave that to my husband. I, however, am an expert at entertain'. Let's take a walk, shall we?" 

Donna nodded and the two ladies went up to the porch and sat in wicker chairs. 

"Now, before I get to entertain'," Blanche began. "I need to know your name. It seems that neither one of those boys were taught proper manners in the presence of a lady." 

"Oh, well, Josh is like that sometimes. My name is Donnatella Moss." 

"So you're with the adorable one?" Blanche asked. "Well, I'll be." 

"You have a lovely house, Mrs. Thoreau," Donna remarked. "I can just imagine how much history it holds." 

"Why, thank you darlin'," Blanche replied as she poured them some lemonade. "Believe it or not, this was one of the only manors that General Sherman and his Yankee troops didn't burn." 

"How did that happen?" 

"The good ol' fashioned way, honey. With tons of southern charm and a basement full of bourbon." 

The ladies sat for a couple minutes in silence enjoying the lemonade and the gentle breeze that swept through the wrap around porch. 

"If you don't mind me bein' so bold, my dear," Blanche began, "but you seem like you have a bee in your bonnet." 

"Bee in my what?" Donna asked. 

"I mean you're upset with the Yankee... I mean, the gentleman with the sunglasses," Blanche answered. 

"Oh, Josh," Donna nodded. "Well, I don't mean to say Josh is difficult, except that he is. I mean, he can be very sweet. When it suits him. But, sometimes…sometimes you just want to wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until his eyes pop out." 

Blanche softly laughed. "Sounds a lot like the Governor. I cannot tell you how many times I've wanted to have him horse whipped. How long have you been with him?" 

"Four years, ma'am." Donna replied. 

"Four? Oh, bless your heart, you're still new." 

"Everything is still new with him," Donna answered, then took a sip of her lemonade. "He doesn't bother to take note of things so that they can become history." 

"How so?" 

"Well, I'm sure you don't want to hear this," Donna said, waving off the discussion. 

"On the contrary, dear," Blanche replied. "I'm a southern woman. Conversation is our speciality--right next to lemonade and gardening. Now, you were saying." 

Before Donna realized it, she was saying more than she intended. She laid into her version of the anniversary debate: how she knew it was on one date but just because of a short break Josh was determined to make it be another date. 

"He deliberately forgets our anniversary," Donna said. "He arbitrarily decided its in April because he can be a child about these things. It's in February. It's not something I would forget. He just... He does it every year and every year I let it get to me." 

"It's the typical male, honey," Blanche smiled. "Thinking one thing and forgetting the real one. That's why they have us. We're the record keepers in these relationships. How did the two of you meet?" 

"I hired myself as his assistant." Donna replied. "Only I didn't know it was him when he came into his office." 

"You did?" Blanche remarked. "Why, bless your heart. The Governor and I met and my granddaddy's barbecue. But, I didn't want anything to do with him at first. He was being a complete jackass. But, he wore me down. Been married twenty-five years next month." 

"Twenty-five?" Donna said. "Well, congratulations." 

"Thank you. Now how come you didn't know it was him in his office?" 

"I just found an empty office and started working," Donna began as she tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. "No one stopped me. From the messages I was getting and the memos I was seeing, I gathered this guy was important to the campaign, so when he showed up.... Well, I had this image that Josh Lyman was a much older man--someone in his 50s or so. Anyway, I was answering the phone and he returned to his office. He asked who I was and I said I was Josh Lyman's assistant. Now, Josh claims that he considered having me arrested - thought I was deranged or something for a few seconds. I don't think that's true. He just likes being a pain. What he did was introduced himself. I knew I was busted. So…I worked my wily ways. You see, I had driven to New Hampshire all the way from Wis… Do you really want to hear this?" 

"Oh, absolutely, honey child," Blanche reassured Donna and patted her hand. "I'm a sucker for stories like this. Please, continue." 

Donna eyed the Southern Belle, gauging her facial expressions. No one, not even her family, had been interested in her stories, especially of how Donna was hired. When she saw the how engrossed Blanche had become in just the preamble to the story, Donna continued. 

"Okay," she beamed. "So, I pleaded my case. I told Josh why I was there and what I wanted to do. I wanted to try and start over, find my confidence again. I'd read about then-Governor Bartlet, and I thought that this was the place for me. Josh, however, didn't agree at first. You see, Mrs. Thoreau…" 

"Oh, honey, no one calls me Mrs. Thoreau unless I instruct them to.. Please, it's Blanche." 

"All right, Blanche," Donna smiled. "It's politics; a presidential campaign no less. There is nothing Josh takes more seriously than a presidential campaign." 

"I see…" Blanche paused and listened to a rather boisterous noise coming from the horseshoe pit. "And evidently, can hear it as well. Is he always that loud?" 

"No, sometimes he shouts," Donna smiled demurely. 

"Well, I'll be horn-swaggled," Blanche commented. "That isn't shouting? Honey, how do you put up with this man on a daily basis? Oh, am I being too forward for you, child?" 

"Oh, no," Donna replied. "You are not being nosy. If you want nosy, you should see how he rides rough shod over my life in and out of the office. Well, that's another long story. I don't mean to make Joshua sound like a tyrant -- he can be, but it's just because he's dedicated and expects everyone to give at least half the effort he does. I don't think I'm really painting a good picture of him for you. He's not a terrible person at all. See, what you have to know about him is that you can never really know completely about Josh." 

"What do you mean?" 

"He'll surprise you at the most unexpected times," Donna admitted with a slight blush. 

"He will? Oh, darlin', do tell." 

"Take the day we met," Donna said. "He wasn't buying my story. At least, I thought he wasn't. Here's this guy who found a complete stranger in his office rifling through this things. He's the Senior Political Director of 'Bartlet for America' and I'm a college drop out who got taken for medical tuition by a deadbeat boyfriend. So…just when I think he's going to show me the door he does something unexpected." 

Blanche sat forward and stared at Donna. "What did he do? Oh, don't leave me on the edge of my seat, honey child." 

"He took off his ID badge and gave it to me," Donna said. "Josh has a way of seeing things and thinking 10 steps ahead. Something in his mind lined up properly and he decided I would work out for him. Well, we've been together ever since." 

"Oh, my," Blanche sighed and fanned herself. "That is the most adorable story I've every heard. He gave you his identity." 

"He what?" 

"His identity," Blanche repeated. "He wanted you to be a part of his life- - knew you were meant to be with him. That badge, sweetheart, was like an engagement ring. The two of you must still be head over heels in love." 

"Well, we… what?!" Donna exclaimed. "Oh no! No, no, no." 

"I don't understand. You just said…" 

"I was talking about working," Donna clarified. "I'm his assistant. We work together. You mean, you thought…" 

"Oh, well, don't I feel like I just fell off the turnip truck," Blanche said lowering her head. "You see, normally I can read people. It just looked like the two of you…and then your story… Oh, dear I didn't mean to embarass you." 

"Oh no, Blanche," Donna reassured the woman. "I mean… It's not like… Well." 

"I'm just relieved that his wife wasn't hear to witness me bein' a fool." 

"Wife? Josh?" Donna laughed. 

"So he isn't married?" 

"Joshua Lyman is married to politics," Donna deftly nodded. 

"And you, my dear?" 

"No," Donna shook her head and looked at her hands. 

"Did I touch a nerve there, sweetheart?" Blanched asked as she touched Donna's arm. 

"No," Donna said. "Not at all. I mean, my siblings are married and a lot of my friends away from the office are, but that's okay. I just haven't found the right guy yet I guess." 

"You will, honey," Blanche said with a wink. "You're still young. You've got plenty of time. The right gentleman caller might be under your nose, and you can't see it yet." 

"The only thing on that's anywhere on my radar right now is…" 

"DONNA!!" 

Donna sighed in defeat and looked towards the doors, where a perturbed Josh and a eerily calm Toby emerged. "…Prince Charming." 

"Good Luck, darlin', Blanche smiled. 

"Oh for god's sake, Joshua," Donna rolled her eyes as he approached. "You don't need to shout." 

"Would you have heard me if I hadn't?" he asked. 

"He's from Connecticut," Donna said, by way of apology to Blanche, who in turn grinned her acceptance. 

"I hope you little visit with the Governor was productive," Blanche said, smiling coquettishly at the two men. 

"It was fine," Toby said. "Visiting with the Governor is always a fascinating experience." 

"Are we finished?" Donna asked. 

"Yeah, for now," Josh said. 

"The Governor needed some quality time with his horseshoe pit," Toby said, keeping his face remarkably neutral. "We decided that tomorrow would be a good time to finish our... discussions." 

"He's telling his tales of the Statehouse," Blanche surmised. "Oh, that makes him happy. Well, then, we'll be seeing you tomorrow. I look forward to it." 

"Thank you, M'am," Josh said, then turned to Donna. "Now, what did you do with my sunglasses?" 

Donna sighed forcefully then dipped her fingers into his breastpocket and drew out the missing shades. 

"Right under your nose, dear," Blanche whispered softly into Donna's ear, leaving Donna to wonder which of them she was speaking to. 

************ 

The parking lot at the convention center across from the hotel was streaming with people. Pickup trucks numbered in the hundreds and the 50th Annual Lexington Sportsman's Exposition drew thousands of people. The exposition was a gathering manufacturers of every conceivable type of hunting and sporting equipment one could imagine. 

"It's a gun show," Donna observed, reading a glossy pamphlet tucked under the windshield wiper of their car as she, Toby and Josh left for dinner. 

"It is the loop hole in just about every gun law I have..." 

"We," Toby corrected him. "Every gun control measure WE have initiated in the last four years." 

"I've been doing this more than four years," Josh said. 

"The gun lobby hates me as much as they hate you," Toby pointed out. "I am beating you." 

"Says you," Josh scoffed. "I haven't seen a recent tally, but I've got you beat by a furlong." 

"In the field of ignorance, naturally," Toby said. 

"What are you talking about?" Donna asked, ceasing the playground spat brewing between them. 

"The letters," Toby said, but regretted it instantly. 

The simultaneous looks on Josh and Donna's faces brought a pang on guilt into the speechwriter's stomach. They were very different expressions. Josh's pled for silence; apparently his other fan club was either not shared knowlege with his assistant or something he did not relish discussing with her. As for Donna's face, it was a mixture of confusion and fear. She was putting the pieces together from the conversation and not liking the sum of the information. 

"You compete over... hate mail?" she ventured. 

"We.... that is, it's a... not a competition," Toby remarked as Josh turned his head and became interested on the flow of traffic at the convention center. "It's one way to deal with irrational ideas. People with public jobs get many unfriendly pieces of correspondance. Some is from lunatics who think the grass in their yard is a spying device placed there by the UN and aliens in an effort to dominate the world. Others are from angry everyday people who are mad about taxes or their jobs." 

"It's hate mail," Josh said flatly. "Don't dress it up or dilute it, Toby. Yes, Donna. A lot of people send hate mail. They sent threats sometimes, too. You know that." 

"The mail room sorts all of that and sends it through security channels," she pointed out. 

"The mail room doesn't pick up our personal mail," Toby said. "When we leave the office, we are technically like everyone else in this country. We don't enjoy any additional protections. They get our home addresses and our e-mail addresses." 

"And you keep a tally?" she asked, looking at Josh, who refused to meet her eyes. 

"Let's check it out," Josh said, rather than answer. 

"I'm sorry?" Toby remarked, startled by the continuing dismay on Donna's face. "The redneck family picnic? Why?" 

"Just curious," Josh shrugged. "We talk about these things and we push legislation about them, but I've never been to one--not a big one like this. Let's check it out." 

"Go into the enemy camp?" Donna observed flatly. 

"They're not the enemy," Josh said. "The organizations with money who we fight against are the enemy. These are the people they claim to represent. I want to see for myself if what they say is true." 

Toby considered the idea for a moment. He was hungry and in no mood to mingle with the great unwashed, but what Josh suggested had some merit, and that annoyed him. What annoyed him more was that he had no ready, effective counter agrument. So, with a resigned sigh, Toby nodded and led the way to the convention center. 

***************** 

"The problem is..." Josh said, continuing in his explanation to Donna as she reached into her bag for her wallet. 

They were standing in front of a clothing outfitter. On the table, Donna had spotted a fishing hat. She intended to buy it for her father; it reminded her of one he had when she was a child. It was too early for his birthday, but she would find some occaision to send it to him. 

"That the three day waiting period gets circumvented at gunshow," she said, finishing his statement as she handed money to the salesman. "They sell all sorts of firearms and no one knows who is doing the buying. There are a lot of cash purchases so there is no reliable trail." 

"Well, that's part of it," Josh said, his attention was being drawn elsewhere. "Where's Toby?" 

"I don't know," she said, looking around at the swarming crowd. "The battery in his phone died when he was talking to Leo." 

"I know," Josh said, still focused on something at the far end of the convention center floor. "He took mine." 

"Josh?" Donna asked, concerned by his preoccupation in the distance and the growing noise in the room. It had gone from a simple bustle to a dull roar swiftly. 

"It's time to go," he said quickly, grabbing her elbow. 

"Not yet," she said, tugging herself back to the table. "I need my hat and my change." 

"Donna, let's go," he said emphatically. 

"Josh, you really to...," she started to say, needing to shout to be heard. 

Just then the crowd suddenly rushed backward, like a wave, through the room. Donna was swept away on the tide. Her blood ran cold as she heard the distinct cracks of gunfire above the cacauphony of the room. She screamed for Josh--unable to see him--but her own voice was swallowed amid the screams and wails of others running for cover in all directions. 

***************** 

Leo McGarry stormed into the Communications Bullpen, barking a terse order at Ginger to find CJ. All were starting at the television sets on the walls showing the live feed from the chaos tearing through downtown Lexington. Police were marching, shoulder-to-shoulder in full riot gear, pushing the crowds back in an attempt to restore order. Sam kept an eye on the screens and his ear pressed to the phone as he listened in on a conference call with the Chief of Police and the Assistant Director of the local FBI Office. 

"My office," Leo said gruffly. "Now." 

Sam nodded, scribbling some final notes on his pad before hanging up the phone and moving quickly to the Chief of Staff's Office. Inside, CJ watched the TV and shook her head. It didn't matter how often she saw it, she never got used to moments like this. 

"What do we know?" Leo asked, seated firmly behind his desk. 

"Special Agent Carlos Rodriguez, of the Lexington field office..." 

"Why are we talking to the FBI already?" Leo asked quickly. "Because of the gun show?" 

"Partially," Sam replied. "Also because of the Klan." 

"The Klan?" Leo repeated. "As in the KKK?" 

"Yeah," CJ added. "KYAD, the CBS affliate, has footage of a little rally for recruitment purposes that was going on outside. Apparently, some teenagers got at little rowdy with them, some bottles were thrown that led to some bumper cars in the parking lot. Something got set fire and folks coming out of the convention center with firearms..." 

"That's not confirmed," Sam cut in. "There are reports someone fired a shot, that is a single shot, over the heads of those involved in the scuffle." 

"Scuffle?" CJ repeated. "Sam, there were three hundred people pushing and shoving on the asphalt." 

"Not all of them were involved," he said. "Some were just caught at the wrong place as they tried to leave the exposition. Others were just... well, watching." 

"It escalated?" Leo asked. "This thing went inside?" 

"Witnesses are saying that after they heard the shots, they ran inside for cover," CJ reported. "It turned into a mad rush and then..." 

"All hell broke loose inside," Leo surmised. "I got that much." 

"We've got people there," CJ said. "Toby and Josh are staying across the street practically. Have they called in? I know they're concentrating on Thoreau, but surely that can't have missed this." 

"They were in this," Sam said. 

"I'm sorry," Leo responded. 

"Toby called about an hour ago," Sam replied. "He and Josh and Donna were going to this thing. He said something about research. I don't know. I wasn't really listening. He had just faxed me some things that Thoreau mentioned that he wanted checked out. I was looking into them when Bonnie told me CNN was carrying the story." 

"Have we heard from Toby?" Leo asked. 

"No," Sam said. 

There was a quick rap on Leo's door as Margaret poked her head into the room. She signaled to the phone and mouthed the word "Toby." Leo stabbed the blinking button. 

"Toby," he barked. "Do you guys know how to have uneventful trips?.... Uh huh.... And where are your partners in crime?..... Right.... Did you get any.... Okay.... Okay.... Okay..... Check back in 15 minutes." 

Leo sighed and rubbed his hand over his weary face. He looked at the clock. It was nearing 7 p.m. He had fleetingly hoped that he would make his dinner date with his daughter that night. It was supposed to be a slow day. He shook his head and silently admonished himself; slow days were usually the ones when the worst trouble started, he reminded himself before returning his focus to the anxious staffers in front of him. 

"That was Toby," Leo began. 

***************** 

Charlie closed the door to the Oval Office as the President peppered Leo with questions. He had been in the dining room having a rare peaceful dinner with Mrs. Barlet when Charlie was told to inform him of the events in Kentucky. Though Charlie was also told to inform the President that there was no need to rush to the office, he did it all the same. 

"Well?" Bartlet said anxiously as his slew of questions drew to a halt. 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "I can't answer most of those. It's a riot, sir. They don't tend to give you an itinerary. Toby is checking in again any minute now. He had just arrived at the hospital the last time we spoke." 

"But he had information that one or both of them were brought there?" Bartlet asked. 

"He got it from a cop," Leo said. "Their names were on a list. There was no information other than that." 

"How did they get..." 

"They knew Josh worked for the White House," Leo informed him. "How, I don't know. He might have told them; Donna might have..." 

"Someone might have had to take ID off their bodies to identify them," Bartlet fumed. 

"A remote possibilty," Leo offered. "We're getting information as fast as we can. Things are a little nuts down there right now. The riot still isn't contained." 

"Why not?" 

"Chaos, Mr. President," Leo sighed. "You remember chaos, right? There are about two hundred walking wounded streaming into the ER and half as many sirens and police and firemen calming things down at the scene." 

"But you talked to Toby," Bartlet said. "He's all right?" 

"He's pretty angry I sent him to Lexington, but other wise he's fine," Leo said. "He had left the convention center before this started so he could call Sam. He watched it from across the street. He went looking for the others and finally found this cop who directed him to the hospital. That's where he is now. We should have something soon." 

***************** 

"What do you mean when you say together?" Sam asked. 

He was in his office. He was speaking to Toby on the speakerphone. Toby was in the main lobby of the hospital feeling exceedingly useless and ignored. 

"Now is not the time for this, Sam," he growled. "I could find a way to blame this whole thing on you. Don't think I'm not trying." 

"I just meant..." 

"I don't care what you meant," Toby snapped. "I need some intervention." 

Leo entered the room with a stern expression. Sam informed him Toby was on the line and at the hospital. 

"That was a long 15 minutes," Leo admonished him. 

"Everything is slower here in Kentucky," Toby replied. "I don't have much to tell you. He's here. He's the patient, and he was in some room some place but not a place I could go. Why? Well, because I am not family and I did not accompany him. So, unless I can convince them that I am his wife, we're going to have to wait until I locate an adminstrator or a compassionate nurse." 

"You're the White House Communications Director," Sam told him unnecessarily. 

"Strangely, that doesn't mean much here," Toby said. "Leo, get someone to call someone." 

"We're working on it," Leo said. "Other than being unappreciated and ignored, how are you doing?" 

"I'm happy and peppy and bursting with love," Toby said. 

***************** 

"You have a mild concussion," the physician's assistant told Josh as he swabbed the inch-long cut just above his left temple. 

"I don't feel concussed," Josh replied. 

"Do you feel lacerated?" 

"No, but then again, you stuck that huge needle in me so I don't think I'm suppose to feel it," he surmized. 

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your mouth," the PA. smirked. 

"That a matter of opinion," Donna said, standing beside the bed, waiting for the sewing to be finished. 

She was physically unscathed though she was still shaking. It amazed her at how calm Josh was in the chaos they had feld. She thought back to the moment when she was nearly drown in the tide of people. The man, a mountainous creature with a grizzly beard and tatoos snaking up his arms, latching onto her and growling lewdly in her ear above the roar of the room. She was going with him, he insisted, for her safety. Maybe he meant well, she thought. But the wild and dark look in his eyes told her differently. She shouted, the first word that came to her mind, screamed it in fact: Josh! 

He claimed he never heard her, but when the crowd rushed forward, he had not lost sight of her. How precisely Donna wriggled free of her new suiter and ended up under Josh's arm, she did not recall. It happened so quickly. The hail of flying bottles and other objects rained down on them. They were through a fire exit on the near side of the building before Donna noticed the blood on the side of Josh's face. He insisted he was fine and showed no signs of not being so--outside the oozing gash. She insisted he see a doctor and without much resistance he agreed. 

"Will he be alright?" Donna asked, pushing the memories of the evening away. 

"He's extremely lucid," the PA reported unnecessarily then looked had at Josh. "What's your name?" 

"Josh," he anwered. 

"What year is it?" 

"Year of the Rat, maybe," Josh replied with a shrug. 

"Right," the PA replied, unimpressed. "Where are you from?" 

"They didn't cover that in medical classes or at the bus stop?" 

"Are you always like this?" the PA asked. 

"No," Donna replied knowingly. "Sometimes he's annoying." 

"I see," the PA said and began sewing the cut. "I take it he doesn't have any neurological impairments?" 

"He has an ego larger than Mount Rushmore, if that counts," Donna offered. 

"Any medications?" 

"No," she sighed. She had given this information to the nurse earlier and was disturbed that the person tending to Josh had apparently not bothered to read the chart with the brief medical history. 

"Recent surgeries or illnesses?" 

"Two years ago he had a ruptured pulmonary artery," she said in a bored tone, mostly to see if the man was even listening. 

"I see," he said then stopped abruptly. "A what?" 

"He was shot in the chest almost two years ago," Donna said. 

"Don't worry about it," Josh cut in. "I got better." 

***************** 

The doctor, summoned by the PA, looked over the chart and gave the PA a disgusted look. His time was better spent on real medical cases, the doctor determined. That the PA had panicked at the mention of a tramatic proceedure in the patient's past was yet another sign the medical community needed revamping, the doctor thought. The only thing interesting about the case was where the patient worked. 

"I saw you in US News recently," the doctor said, checking Josh's pulse as he surveyed the stitches before turning his attention to Donna. "You say it was a bottle that did this?" 

"I think so," she said. "There was a lot things flying around, mostly bottles." 

"That's good then," the doctor replied. 

"Good?" Josh gasped. "It hurt like hell." 

"Be quiet, Joshua," Donna scolded him. 

"Anything harder or heavier might have had a greater impact," the doctor continued. "As it looks now, I don't think we need to do a CAT Scan." 

"I hate cats," Josh added. 

"Not that kind of cat," Donna told him and offered a concerned look. He might not be seriously injured, but as the minutes ticked by, she could tell Josh was not acting like his normal self. "When will you release him?" 

"As soon as we get the forms ready for you to sign," the doctor replied. "I'm guessing that since he works for the President we won't have an insurance battle to do this." 

"We could," Josh offered. "They're bastards to pretty much anyone." 

"Josh, please," Donna said and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Thank you so much, Doctor." 

"It's what they pay me for," the physician replied then signaled Donna to step away from the bed with him for a moment. 

She did so with a quizzical expression. Josh made no move to object or comment. Donna folded her arms and inclined her head toward the doctor to hear what he had to say. 

"I don't want you to be concerned," the doctor said. "This is a minor concussion. I can see you're a bit anxious; he's probably not acting quite like himself. That's normal. If he gets progressively worse or starts vomitting, you'll need to bring him back here, but I don't think that will happen. We'll give you some information with the discharge papers about concussions. You'll need to watch him for the next 24 hours or so. He's going to be a little out of it for a while, Mrs. Lyman." 

"Well that's under...," Donna began then paused. "I'm sorry. What did you call me?" 

"Nothing," he said guardedly. "I just said Mrs. Lyman." 

"Oh," Donna blushed then started to babble in her nerovusness and weariness. "I'm not his wife. I'm his assistant. Which is kind of like his wife, except I get paid and don't live with him, though I practically do considering all the time we spend together at the office because he's such a workaholic and compulsively demanding of my time. I mean, I'm the only one who can handle him and make sure that he takes care of himself, which in this case he certainly can't because he's got a concussion and..." 

"My mistake," the doctor said quickly cutting her off. "I was told you were his wife. I meant no disrespect. Are you willing to take responsiblity for him? He shouldn't be left alone. There can be complications with even mild head injuries. Or is there someone else we should call?" 

Donna agreed to take the responsibilty and brushed off the doctor's embarassment. She rambled on some more about people who work together and images. She did so for several seconds until the doctor took out his pen light and checked her pupils--curious as to whether she was also suffering from a head injury. Satisfied she was not, he returned to Josh who was fighting to keep his eyes open. 

"Mr. Lyman, they will be bringing in some forms for you to sign shortly," the doctor explained. "Your assistant has agreed to see you safely back to your hotel and watch over you for the evening. I'm sorry, what is your name?" 

"Donna Moss," she replied. 

"Do you mind?" the doctor asked returning his attention to Josh. 

"That's Donna," Josh answered. "Do I mind Donna? Not usually. I mean, she has her moments, but generally speaking...." 

"Good enough," the doctor sighed. "Good patients get lollipops." 

"Milicent tries that and it doesn't impress me," Josh said. 

"Milicent?" the doctor asked. 

"The Surgeon General," Donna explained. 

"She likes my scar," Josh nodded. "Donna doesn't like it. You don't like the scars, do you, Donna?" 

"Not particularly, no." 

"Women," Josh shrugged. "You can never please them." 

***************** 

Toby met them at the front desk and reserved any comments about Josh and his brilliant idea. He looked like Hell, in Toby's estimation. This was tempered, of course, by the memory that Toby had seen him look worse. It was the blood on the front of Josh's shirt that gave Toby more chills than the hatch marks where the stitches were. 

The made there way slowly through the crowd streaming into the lobby. Things were calm in the city again. A curfew was being imposed. Tob led the way to the parking garage where he had stashed their rental car. He called Leo with his final report of the night--informing he and the President that they were all fine. He also made plans to appear on the Today show the next morning to talk about the gunshow and what had happened. There were points to be made and some leverage to be had with Congress, Toby knew. This night of chaos would pay off somewhat. Finished with the phone, he waited, the car idling, as Donna helped Josh navigate to the vehicle. She sat in the back with him where he sat dazed. Toby watched them in the rear view mirror for a moment then tore his gaze away. 

***************** _Toby Ziegler_   
_8:02 p.m._   
_Parking Garage, Lexington, KY_

_I think I'll forgive him--for what he put me through tonight, two years ago as well. I didn't need to do this again. Her face. I'm not sure why, but her face that night. That's the one thing that hasn't faded in my memory. Other details get hazy. Not that. Nor his face, either. Finding him; telling her. Worst night of my life. I couldn't go through a night like that again. Thankfully, I didn't have to._

_But now I feel something else._

_It's envy. Envy and a different kind of anger._

_She worships the quicksand he walks on. He's barely aware of it--if at all. Not that I'm jealous. I'm not. I said evny before, envy. Andi would get that look once in a while, early on, when I had a good... No, a great, an extraordinary and exceptional idea._

_You could glow for a lifetime in a look like that. And what did he do to get it? He stumbled across the garage and sat down. In other words: NOTHING. He did precisely nothing. It's just that he's here; he's anywhere._

_Sam's right. I hate to say it, but he is. And you know how that makes me crazy._

_But he's right about one thing: there is a current here._

_I don't see the inherent danger in it. I can see vast areas of grayness that can lead to impropriety, or the appearance of impropriety. That would be bad for business, and we do not need that. Internal scandals we do not need, but I'm not concerned._

_So, I'm angry. Not with Josh. Not Donna. Not even with Sam--I'm not happy with him, but that's sort of a hobby for me._

_No, I'm angry with whoever decided that we can't be human; we can't live our lives. We have to be untouchable, someone else's definition of perfect, autonimous and entirely un-human._

_*****************_

  
  
  
  


"All right," Donna said, ushering Josh into his hotel room. "Last stop." 

"Where are we going now?" 

"Your room," she said shutting the door. 

"This isn't my apartment," he said. "We aren't even in DC." 

"I know that," she sighed. "I meant your hotel room." 

"Good thinking," he nodded. "Room's paid for. Makes no sense to sleep in the hall." 

Donna steered him across the room and to the bed. She folded back the covers. 

"Okay," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "Get into bed." 

"You know any other night I'd be all for it, but really, Donna," he grinned then draped his arms over her shoulders. "You got bad timiing. I've had a rough evening.... Haven't I?" 

"Josh please," she smirked and rolled her eyes as she pushed him down to sit on the bed then removed his jacket. "That's not what I meant." 

"My head hurts," he whinned unnecessarily. 

"No kidding," she said, untying his shoes. "You have a nasty gash and a nice bump. You will have a black eye by tomorrow. Republicans everywhere will search for the person responsible to pay him for his trouble." 

"That doesn't sound like quite enough sympathy," he said as she took off his shoes. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," she said quickly then fused with the pillows for a moment as she tried to stop thinking about the evening. Her hands were trembling again. 

"Are you mad at me?" 

"What?" she said, stopping her busy work and looking into his sleep clouded eyes. "No, not at all." 

"'Cause you're acting like you do when you're mad at me," he said. 

"I'm not mad at you," she said. "On the contrary, I'm thankful that you were there for me today." 

"I was quite something," Josh replied with a nod, that he instantly regretted. "What did I do again?" 

"You saved me from Bubba Bo Bob," Donna said. 

"Wrecked another one of your dates," he smirked then studied his hands for a moment. "That was a real gomer. A fate worse than death no doubt. How did I get teeth marks on my hand?" 

"Where?" she asked, taking his palm in hers and looking at the marks. "Those aren't teeth marks, Josh. Those are from my fingernails. When you... When we navigated through the.... crowd, I was holding onto your hand. I scratched you a bit, I guess. I'm sorry." 

"I wasn't going to let you go," he said. "You're safe with me. Hey, I need to call Leo." 

"Toby did that already," Donna explained. "Leo wants you to take it easy. Actually, the First Lady wants you to and I think Leo is too smart to disagree with her." 

"You mean too afraid," Josh grinned. 

"I don't think Leo is afraid of anything," Donna said. "Except maybe you with a concussion. Come on, you need some rest. Now, I'm going to wake you up in a little while and ask you some questions." 

"A pop quiz?" 

"Something like that," Donna continued as she began loosening his tie. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Taking off your tie." 

"Do I get to take something off you?" 

"What?" she exclaimed and let go of the tie as he grinned mischeviously. "Josh." 

"Didn't know if this was quid pro quo," he said. "You do something for me, I do something for you." 

"Yeah, that's the concussion talking so I'm not going to hurt you--this time," she warned. "Get under the covers, Josh. And before you say anything you'll regret, I mean alone." 

"You really are no fun," he said as he lay back and closed his eyes. 

"What's your name?" she asked suddenly, causing him to open his eyes. 

"What? Now?" 

"I want a starting point to see what I'm dealing with," she argued. "Name?" 

"Cassanova," he smirked. "What's yours, sweetie?" 

"Try again." 

"Oh, come on, Donna," Josh sighed. "Lighten up. You are no fun. Fine. Josh." 

"Josh what?" 

"Depends on which Party you're a member of and what day of the week it is....," he trailed off. 

"Who's thePresident of the United States?" 

"For the moment, Josiah Bartlet," Josh said with palpable angst that Donna chose to ignore. 

"Where do you live?" 

"In hotels with the rest of the travelling carnival sideshow," he said. 

"Josh." 

"Generally speaking, I divide my time between the West Wing of the White House, Capital Hill and my apartment, all fortunately located in Washington, DC," he sighed. 

"Good," she smiled. "And finally, who am I?" 

"My Donna," he smiled and closed his eyes. "I mean, Donna. My assistant." 

****************** 

Morning arrived. Josh moaned and whined. This was worse than any hangover. It was worse than being shot, he reasoned, because at least then he had an ample supply of heavy-duty painkillers that made the first few days fade into oblivion. Staring in the mirror over the sink, he surveyed the damage: a shiner like the kind earned in a playground brawl and the stitches reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster. He was extra careful as he shaved that morning. 

"You're not going," Donna said firmly on the other side of the door for the fifth time. 

She had spent the night in the room, sitting in the chair, watching him and waking him at intervals. Josh was exhausted due to the interupted sleep, but he felt that was nothing compared to what Donna must feel. He suspected she didn't sleep at all. It wouldn't surprise him. She had sat vigil for him before; he hoped this time she knew there was absolutely no logical reason to do so. 

"I can do what I want," he said as he returned to the room then stopped dead in his tracks. "You made the bed?" 

"I had nothing better to do," she said, sitting aloof in the chair beside the window. 

"They have a staff they pay to do that," Josh replied as he sat on the bed again and flipped on the TV. 

"I'll bet they don't get paid what they are worth," she added. "I'm just showing solidarity with them." 

"I'm sorry," Josh said, turning to face her. "I wasn't listening." 

The phone rang before she could respond. Josh reached for it, despite Donna's dagger glare that ordered him to freeze. From her intense gaze, Josh felt safer with the mystery caller. _A witness if I need one_, he thought with a mischevious grin. 

"Josh!" Toby shouted instantly after Josh answered, sending a new throbbing through Josh's temples. 

"Why are you shouting?" Josh asked. 

"I'm not," Toby shouted. " I mean... I'm not. They're doing some construction here at the station. They've... well, they just stopped now. Did you call Leo?" 

"Donna wouldn't let me," he replied. 

"Hold on," Toby said. "I gotta go some place else. They're going to start hammering again. Don't hang up. Just stay on the line." 

Josh craddled the phone in between the crook of his shoulder and his ear as he lay back on the bed. Donna took the rmote from him and changed the station--making sure to keep the volume low. She sat on the edge of the bed as she did so, keeping her back to Josh. 

"Donna." 

She did not move. 

"Donna!" 

Again, she refused to acknowleged him. 

"DONNATELLA MOSS!" 

"Oh for the love of God, Joshua," she snapped as she finally turned to glare at him again. "What do you want? Just ask your question. I'm right here." 

"I know," he said casually. "That's why I called to you." 

"You didn't call," she argued. "You yelled." 

"I called," he insisted. "You you know what I've noticed." 

"You've noticed something? Josh, that's wonderful." 

"I mean it," he said seriously. 

"What?" 

"I've noticed something," he repeated. 

"So you said," Donna replied. "Are you going to elaborate or am I supposed to read you mind?" 

"You're very sensitive to noise," Josh proclaimed. "I think you may have some issues." 

"Issues?" she gasped. 

"Yes." 

"Me?" 

"Yes, you." 

"I do not have issues," Donna contend. "I have manners." 

Josh shook his head and gave her his best disbelieving expression. 

"Manners are not talking with your mouth full or not interupting people when they speak," he explained. 

"I don't do either of those," she informed him primly. 

"But that's not the same." 

"Same as what?" 

"As having issues with with people's voices," Josh continued. 

"I don't have issues with people's voices." 

"Did you get yelled at a lot as a child?" Josh asked. 

"No," she replied with a scoff. "I did not. Why are you doing this?" 

"Doing what?" 

"This," Donna said, waving her hands at the air between them. "Telling me I have issues. Not taking no for an answer. Questioning everything I say." 

"Annoying, isn't it?" 

"Very," she said, returning her attention to the TV. 

"It's payback," Josh said with a nod. 

"For what?" she whipped around to look at him in exasperation again. 

"For all the times you've done it to me." 

"I've never done this to you," she said with a stern expression. "I point out flaws or inconsistencies in your behavior." 

"Yes," Josh agreed. "Why do you do that? Inner insecurity of your own?" 

"I'm not insecure," she scoffed. 

"That sounds like denial." 

"Okay, that's enough," Donna said, holding up her hand to halt him. 

"Is this another issue?" 

"Stop talking to me," she said, folding her arms and turning her back to him. 

"You know, I read somewhere that talking is the best way to deal with your issues," Josh said, fighting a smirk valiantly. 

"If anyone in this room has issues, it's you," Donna replied. 

"I'm sensing displacement and perhaps even some projection," Josh mused. "Maybe we should talk about this." 

"You're mocking yourself more than me," Donna said. "You've had too much therapy." 

"Wow," he observed. "Now, you're displaying jealousy. My, my, we are just finding loads of stuff in your closet aren't we?" 

"Josh, stop it!" Donna said, unable to keep a serious and annoyed look on her face. "Okay, I get the point. You're bored. Just let me just say one thing without you questioning me: You're the one with issues." 

"I don't have issues," he said easily. "I'm complex." 

"SPARE ME!" Toby shouted into the phone having listened to the conversation. 

He had reached his own conclusions about them. They needed to sleep together or never see each other again, Toby decided. 

"FORGET THIS," he barked as he looked at his watch. "I GOTTA GO BE COMPASSIONATE ON TV!" 

He hung up with a loud click that Donna heard as clearly as she had his words. 

"Well, that was rude," Donna observed, slidding back to sit beside Josh on the bed as they tuned into the show where Toby was to appear shortly. 

"Yeah," Josh agreed, accepting the remote from her to adjust the volume. "Think he has some issues?" 

"Big time," Donna nodded. 

************   
**Up Next**   
** Chapter 18:The Drop Off**


	18. The Drop Off

**Title**: THE QUEST, The Drop Off _(Chapter 18)_   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Posted**: January 21, 2002   
**Homepage**: **http://wing_nuts.tripod.com**   


Marilyn Rogers stood in her private box at Camden Yards, surveying the enormous feast. She silently prayed that everything would be to the President's liking. Marilyn knew that President Bartlet enjoyed watching baseball, and she wanted to make certain that he was pleased. 

The first pitch of the season had just been fired by Bartlet--and not a bad throw for a man with MS who was rumored to be more interested in the Latin roots of baseball terminology than the actual game, commentators announced. Marilyn did a final mental review of the room as she knew the security entourage was making its way to the box at that moment. As she completed her run-through, the door to her box opened. A Secret Service Agent entered with his finger pressed to the clear wire in his ear. On his heels was S.J. Rixon. 

"Ms. Rogers," the agent said flatly, "Ms. Rixon." 

"Thank you," Marilyn replied and greeted SJ with a hug. 

"That was an experience," SJ smirked as she motioned to the retreating agent. 

"You didn't enjoy being frisked?" 

"I didn't say it was a bad experience," SJ countered. 

"I'm surprised they let you in," Marilyn said. "I guess all went well when you were vetted." 

"You can't be half as shocked as I am." 

"I guess I twisted a couple of the right arms after all." 

"Sam and Josh?" SJ guessed. 

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," Marilyn chuckled. "But, off the record, Sam was the easy one. With Josh… Let's just say I had to bruise him." 

"Great," SJ said flatly though she was smiling. "He'll still be whining when he gets here. Did you see him with Russert on Sunday? Nice shiner, huh? I gotta pay whoever did that." 

Moments later the door opened again and several agents walked in and positioned them around the room. Ron Butterfield, head of the Presidents personal detail, entered seconds ahead of President Bartlet. 

"Mr. President," Marilyn said with a warm smile. "Welcome to Camden Yards, home of the Baltimore Orioles." 

"Thank you, Ms. Rogers," Bartlet replied, returning the smile. "There's nothing like America's Pastime to rejuvenate one's self. That's what I always say." 

"I couldn't agree with you more, sir. And please, call me Mary." 

"Mary it is, then. You can call me Mr. President." 

"Yes, Mr. President." 

Bartlet grinned and patted Marilyn on her shoulder. 

"Sir, may I also introduce a good friend of mine, S.J. Rixon," Marilyn said offering the formal introduction. 

Bartlet offered his hand to the woman and greeted her warmly. 

"The Pulitzer Prize winner," Bartlet said, pleased he had not needed a cheat sheet from Charlie to make the connection. 

"Not this year," she said though managed to sound as though she was bragging. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President." 

"I've read your books," he replied. "Not bad, for a Vermonter." 

"A New Hampshire man who can read?" SJ quipped. "I'm blown away." 

"SJ!" Marilyn barked tersely. "Mr. President, I apologize and recommend you just ignore her. Her rabies are acting up because her team is going to get spanked today." 

"No disrespect meant, Mr. President," SJ said affably. 

"None that I don't appreciate," Bartlet said with a nod only natives of the twin states could decipher. 

Charlie and Marilyn exchanged nods as he maneuvered the President away from the cantankerous writer. Toby was the next to enter, proudly sporting a Yankee baseball cap with his brown suit. 

"Mr. Zeigler," Marilyn grinned. 

"Here it can be Toby," he said. 

"Okay, Toby," Marilyn said. "You know, I really shouldn't let you in my box with that monstrosity on." 

"I have my rights," he replied dryly. 

"Yes, and no taste in sports franchises," she said. "You should go over there and speak with my friend, SJ." 

"Why?" 

"She's a traitor, too. You'll have lots to talk about." 

"I like her already," Toby replied as he made his way over SJ, who was now standing next to the buffet table returning the steely gaze of the Secret Service Agent who had placed himself between she and the President. 

"Samuel!" Marilyn said as she placed a kiss on his cheek as he entered. "Great to see you." 

"When are you going to break down and go out with me?" Sam asked. 

"When you give up your wild life in politics, sweetie," Marilyn said with a wink. "You'd better go grab some food before SJ drips some poison in it so we don't harass her later when her team disgraces itself." 

"Hey, don't think I can't hear you," SJ protested. 

Sam chuckled and joined SJ and Toby. 

"All right, Mary," CJ said she entered. "Where are the boys?" 

"Best view in the stadium--besides the dugout, of course," she replied. "You really ought to stop by when they're taking batting practice." 

"Why's that?" 

"Less clothes." 

"That's Mary's philosophy: Less clothing is better," Josh said as he strolled into the room, with Donna in tow. He leaned toward the GM and said more softly. "Rumor has it I was the basis for that philosophy." 

"You really live in your own little world, don't you?" Marilyn shot back as the two kissed each other on the cheek. "And you're confusing me with someone else. SJ was the philosophy major." 

"Yeah, I dealt in theory back then," she said from beside Toby. "Like, in theory Josh were entertaining; in theory, he was a good evening distraction, and similar fallacies." 

"Really?" Toby asked sounding surprised. "You and... him?" 

"Don't worry," SJ said with a nod. "Didn't last long. I reached the Age of Reason." 

"You know, I was thinking of just faking it, but I think I might actually start to like you," Toby said. 

Mary yanked Josh's arm to pull him into the room and usher in his shadow. She has specifically invited Donna as her guest, rather than asking Josh to bring her along as his. She would be the only assistant with the senior staff and Marilyn wanted her to feel that she belonged rather than she was grudgingly accepted. 

"You can separate yourselves," Marilyn said to Donna. "It's not like the two of you are attached. You're here as my guest, Donna, so feel free to ignore him entirely--just like I do." 

"Uh, yeah," Donna said nervously, then took a quick glance over at Josh. "It's great to see you again." 

"You too," Marilyn replied slowly, noticing how each stiffened at her last remark. 

***************** 

The game proceeded. Scoring was low, opportunities were plentiful. Though Marilyn was not pleased that her team appeared to be struggling, she was glad the game was keeping her guests on the edges of their seats. The President appeared to be enjoying himself. The same could not be true of his staff. 

Toby was torn between notes Sam was scribbling for an upcoming speech and keeping an eye on the game. Sam was uninterested in the game and trying desperately to keep Toby's attention without vexing him greatly--a failed effort from start to finish. CJ sat amidst the senior staff, hassling Sam when she felt the urge, by asking obtuse questions about his childhood and whether he had been cut from Little League teams or held some psychological reservations about baseball. Leo stood in the corner most of the time, his cell attached to his ear as he spoke in hushed tones while occasionally joining the group to whisper updates and details to Bartlet, who continually addressed his personal aide on his wishes that his Chief-of-Staff would do the unthinkable: Act like his deputy--relaxed. 

Josh appeared relaxed as he sat in his seat, uninterested in either team on the field, but playing sports tutor to his assistant. Donna, for all her vast knowledge on many subjects, was confused about the Infield Fly Rule. Josh broke down the reasoning and strategy behind the rule for her, laying out an explanation that any six-year-old would grasp on 10 seconds. He completed his lesson with the proclamation that the Infield Fly Rule was one of the three rules he felt were absolutes in the universe. 

"Hey!" SJ snapped. "Quit stealing my stuff! I wrote that line." 

"You did not," Josh said. "I told you that and you went and stuck it in one of your crazy, little, freaky girl stories that no one   
but you understands." 

His head snapped forward instantly as she delivered an open-palmed slap to the back of his head in reprimand. He twisted in his seat, a pleased scowl of a challenge accepted on his lips. 

"Don't start with me, Joshua," she said cutting off his opening argument. "I fight dirty." 

"All fighting is dirty," he countered. 

"Don't make me tell these people something I'll enjoy and you'll regret." 

"Oh, tell," CJ chimed in. "Please, tell. Pretty please. I'll pay you. Really." 

"I don't have any secrets," Josh said confidently. 

"Oh, so you won't mind if I tell them why you missed the Dean's List spring semester sophomore year," SJ taunted. 

"Oh, I know that," CJ sighed with disappointment. "That was the thing with registering the fish for classes." 

"That was the previous semester," SJ said with a sly grin. "I was referring to the next semester." 

"What's the count?" Josh asked loudly, using the tone that normally by its sheer force changed subjects. 

"Two-and-one," Sam offered, a grin on his face and his ears perked to the discussion as he turned to SJ. "SJ, you were saying..." 

"Hey, we're watching a game here," Josh said. "Donna is fascinated by the ground rules, and I think a little consideration should be given so she can concentrate." 

"This is not a game," Toby said flatly, joining the discussion. "This is a fix. Frankly, embarrassing you sounds more entertaining." 

"No one cares," Josh cried. "Besides, after graduation, who really cares what your GPA was?" 

"I had a 3.98," SJ taunted. "What was yours again?" 

"You needed excessive tutoring in physics and politic science at one point," Josh said loftily. "And, as I recall, you didn't take more than Intro. courses in either of those." 

"True," SJ nodded. "But that's off the subject of why you missed the Dean's List. That was an interesting… episode." 

"Episode?" CJ grinned. "Okay, now I need details. It might be important someday. Oh, please tell me it's mortifying." 

The writer grinned and shot a knowing and pleased glare at Josh. 

"Well, he and Chris--his roommate..." 

"Representative Chris Wick," Josh said firmly, hoping for some modicum of control to return to him 

"Chris is a pain and a yutz and, as far as I'm concerned represents, little more than the reason why politicians are considered vain and ill-informed," S.J. replied heatedly. "Friends of the Program, Josh. Read it sometime. Where was I? Oh yes, the Dean's List..." 

She got no further. Josh stood instantly and gripped her elbow. With a serious glare and a harsh tone, he ordered her to follow him. 

"Outside," Josh said firmly. 

He hauled her out of box before another syllable spilled over her lips. 

"I want full disclosure," CJ called as they left the room. 

"I'll get it," Toby remarked. 

"How?" Sam asked. 

"She's impressed by me," Toby said plainly. "We'll share." 

"She's impressed by me, too," Sam offered in a more feeble tone. 

"She's not, but if it makes you feel better about yourself then, sure Sam," Toby quipped. "We're all impressed by you. Weekly." 

"You have quite the mean streak in you, Toby," Sam pouted. 

"Yeah, I'm impressive like that." 

**************** 

"Sarah, I swear to God, if you say...." Josh began, his eyes narrowing, signaling he was prepared for a mighty battle. 

"Calm down, Josh," SJ laughed. "I have nothing to say because I don't know anything." 

"I'm going to... What?" 

"Joshua, I have no idea why you didn't make the Dean's List," she confessed. "I do know that you were so mad at yourself for this perceived failure that you buried yourself even more in your books that I wondered if you were losing your mind." 

"It was important," he said sullenly. 

"The grades or the reason you didn't pull a 3.5 or higher every semester?" she asked. "Josh, I was having fun with you in there. You know I would never do anything to make fun of you if it made you feel like this. I owe you too much to ever consider...." 

"You don't owe me anything," he said. "That's just what friends do." 

"They'll keep you from jumping off the roof of a dorm, but they won't read your books?" she asked mildly, relenting a smile. 

"I did," he admitted. "The one that people actually read." 

"Friends of the Program?" she inquired. "They're making it into a movie. I was going to call you. Julia Roberts is in it. She wants to meet you. She thinks you're... interesting. I told her it's all done with mirrors." 

"You're still madly in love with me, aren't you?" he grinned. 

"I never was and you were only interested in while you were bugging me to go out with you," she replied. "Joshua, we really didn't date that much when you think about it. There were a few weeks where we were... You are the worst boyfriend I ever had, but you are probably the best friend anyone could ask for. And now I've made you uncomfortable..." 

"No," he waved off his former anger. "It's nothing. I'm sorry. I just...." 

"I know," SJ offered. "You're a talented politician, Josh. You have a commendable blend of foresight, pragmatism, courage, and sheer will, but you need a lot of work outside the political ring. I'm telling you this as one of your most devout fans: Don't wait too long. You have lots of potential to be a really great someone. And, someday, some woman is going to see that as well and to you that person is going to be as important as this job you do--maybe even more so. Take some advice: Don't panic when it does; take a deep breath and enjoy yourself--you've more than earned it." 

She kissed him on the cheek before returning to the room, caught in the full and astonished glare of Donna, who was watching them through the window despite the commotion in the room as the game drew even tighter. 

**************** 

Donna tuned out further discussion in the box and the action on the field as she watched the display in the hall. She did not share the mirth the others were feeling. She forced a smile to her lips to match their chuckling and snickering, but inside she felt queasy. She had watched through the narrow glass panel in the door as Josh and SJ bandied words. Their gestures were mildly emphatic, but there was nothing quarrelsome in their expressions. The way he rolled his eyes and touched her arm, and the manner in which she tauntingly patted his cheek was so comfortable, so familiar after she kissed him. There was much history there, Donna knew. What she was left wondering was how much of it would stay in the past. 

Her expression was not fielded by anyone in the room except Marilyn. She caught the quick flash in Donna's eyes that was a mixture of confusion, jealousy, hurt and resignation. Marilyn read it expertly for one reason only: She had sported it herself before in a similar situation. As the others settled back into the game, she tapped Donna on the shoulder. 

"Can I see you for a second?" Marilyn asked and gestured to the back of the room. 

Donna nodded, mystified as to why she would be needed. However, she was a guest and was willing to assist in any way necessary. She stepped to the far back corner where Marilyn spoke to her in warm but hushed tones. "He's something else," Marilyn sighed, and jerked her head briskly toward the door at the opposite end of the room. 

Donna caught a slight gleam in Marilyn's eye. She looked over at the two in the hall still grappling with their friendly discord. Donna wondered how Josh could be so open, so comfortable and so relaxed with either of these women when they both knew so much about him. While when he was with her.... Donna stopped that thought and physically shook it from her head. 

"Do you think she wants him back?" Donna asked and then placed her hand over her mouth, instantly regretting what she had said. 

Marilyn turned towards Donna with a questioning look. "Donna, what makes you say that?" 

"Do you?" she asked in a more hushed tone but one that held an equal amount of trepidation. 

"Donna," Marilyn sighed as she placed a comforting hand on Donna's shoulder. 

"No… I mean, it's just a bad time," Donna said. "You know, with reelection coming up and all. I mean, Josh deserves to be happy but..." 

Marilyn stared into Donna's blue eyes. She could see flashes of jealousy, and hurt. 

"I make it a point never to speak for SJ--lowers the chances of a lawsuit for either of us," Marilyn said. "However, I don't think I'd be leading you astray to say that SJ and Joshua are good friends--like he and I are good friends. I don't think there is any more there that is serious." 

"But you both…" 

Marilyn nodded slowly, helping make her point and calming Donna somewhat. 

"That was a long time ago," Marilyn said. "Josh is someone you only get one chance with. It didn't work for either of us. It shouldn't have. Neither of us was right for him, and he's not right for either us. It was good, for a time, but that time is past. The friendship remains. That'll never fade completely." 

Donna lowered her head. 

"Mary, I'm so sorry," Donna apologized. "I don't know what I was..." 

"Did I hear that you've been seeing someone?" Marilyn asked in calculated tone. 

"That was.... a mistake" Donna sighed. "It was like sleeping with the enemy, I suppose.." 

"Who is the enemy?" Marilyn asked dryly. "Donna, you look like you're under a lot of stress. This is supposed to be an evening to relax." 

"I know," Donna sighed. "It's just not that easy." 

"It can be," Marilyn said. "Listen, are you working tonight?" 

"I don't think so," Donna said. 

"Great," Marilyn said. "You need a night out with the girls to cure you of the worse kind of stress, the kind caused by men. SJ and I go out and have dinner then rake men and careers over the coals for mental health reasons every couple weeks. We're going out tonight and now you're coming with us. Don't say no to me; no one says no to me on game days." 

Marilyn's pager chirped, summoning her to make a call. She left Donna with a deft nod that reinforced her point about getting her way. Donna returned the gesture somewhat hesitantly. She then took her seat again and tried to concentrate on the game. Josh appeared to be much quieter, but much to CJ's chagrin, SJ now claimed amnesia. 

***************** 

The bottom on the ninth arrived with the Orioles trailing the Yankees 2-1. The President, happily munching away on popcorn, was pointing out the architecture of Camden Yards to Charlie. Leo was standing next to the nearly bare buffet, grumbling orders to Margaret. 

Sitting behind the President and Charlie were Sam and CJ. Sam was trying to convince CJ (unsuccessfully) that he looked better in a pair of baseball pants than Derek Jeter. Next to Sam were Josh and Donna. Josh, with one hand "casually" draped over the back of Donna's chair, was trying to explain (also unsuccessfully) to Donna why the third base coach was waving his arms in several directions. 

Toby and SJ, both sporting satisfied grins, sat on the third row. SJ had her feet propped up on the empty chair in front of her and Toby was savoring his beer. Marilyn was not in her customary seat on the front row. Instead she was nervously pacing the floor behind SJ and Toby. 

"What's the matter, Mary?" SJ teased. "It couldn't be because, oh let's see, Mariano Rivera is on the mound, you've got a turtle of a base runner on first, and the O's are down to their last out, could it? 

"Shut up," Marilyn said and continued to pace. 

"Is she always like this?" Toby asked. 

"Which one?" Josh asked. "I think they're both nuts." 

"All right children," Bartlet interrupted. "Let's play nice, shall we? And since everyone is so talkative, it's time for a pop quiz." 

The senior staff suppressed their groans, for fear of getting more trivia on the ride home. 

"Charlie, whose number did we honor today?" Bartlet asked. 

"That would be Cal Ripken, sir," the aide said comfortably. 

"That's not fair," Sam cried. "Anyone of us could have answered that." 

"And one of you did," Bartlet pointed out. "And since you're so gung-ho about this, Sam, you're next. How long was Cal Ripken's consecutive game streak end and when did it end?" 

"Uh," Sam began, and then turned to look at Marilyn. 

"Sorry, Sam," Marilyn shook her head. "I can't help you. That would be cheating." 

"That would be 2,632 games," CJ piped in expertly. "And he finally sat down on September 20, 1998, sir." 

"That's correct," Bartlet answered. 

"Suck up," Sam whispered. 

"Hey, I boned up before coming. You should have, too," CJ smirked. 

"Okay, Toby, you're next," Bartlet remarked. 

"Name the team the Orioles were playing when Cal sat down." 

"Hah! A no-brainer. The New York Yankees," Toby replied confidently. 

"Yes," Bartlet said. "Next contestant is Josh." 

Josh sunk down in his seat. 

"Who replaced Cal in the lineup that night?" 

"I don't know," Josh said. "I don't follow the Orioles. Now if it were the Mets…" 

"Then we wouldn't be talking about baseball because we'd all be asleep," SJ added, catching Josh's glare and offering back her own. "The Lyman Leer is over rated, Josh. Okay, fine. The last time the Mets were in the Series, they were trounced by whom?" 

"The Yankees," Toby offered. 

"Toby, I think I love you," SJ said. 

"I don't care," Josh said defensively. "Big pay rolls can buy pennants. So what?" 

"Hey, I'm not saying the Mets aren't a good team," SJ offered. "I mean, for Triple A-ball... maybe." 

"Not that it matters to either of you, but I did have the floor," Bartlet continued. "Anybody going to answer my question?" 

The rest of the staff looked around at each other to see if anybody knew. 

"It was Ryan Minor," Leo informed the group and then returned back to his call. 

"How'd he know that?" Sam asked. 

"It's Leo's," CJ surmised. "Why do you question it?" 

In the interim, Mariano Rivera had finished his warm-ups and was now staring down the Oriole player in the batter's box.   
He knocked the dirt from his cleats and dug in. Rivera shook off the first two signs. He nodded his acceptance on the third   
and began his windup. With all his strength, he hurled the sphere towards the plate. 

The sound coming from the contact between bat and ball was unmistakable. The sold-out, partisan Oriole crowd jumped to their feet. The Yankee left fielder didn't move. He just turned his head to watch the baseball sail several feet into the outfield bleachers, giving the Orioles a 3-2 victory. 

Toby and SJ sank in their seats. 

"Yes!" Bartlet stabbing his fist into the air with gusto before standing to applaud. 

Charlie stood alongside the President applauding and enjoying the scowl on Toby's face. CJ and Sam applauded boisterously. Leo turned away from the ruckus and put his finger in his ear to listen more closely to his call. 

"Yes!" Marilyn screamed. "He nailed it! Oh, hey SJ, Toby? You guys don't look to happy." 

"Shut up," SJ said. "Happy birthday. Let's see who's laughing in September." 

"Okay, folks," Leo said snapping his phone shut. "Fun time's over. Time to get back to the office." 

"You're sending them back to work Leo?" Marilyn asked. 

"The early primaries were not election day," he grumbled. "The campaign doesn't stop until November 8." 

"If we're lucky," Josh sighed. 

"I don't envy any of you," Marilyn said, spying Josh's sudden downcast expression. "I remember campaigns." 

"Well, we could always use the support of people like you and SJ," Sam said winking. 

"Sam, are you ready to admit you need some help with your writing?" SJ asked. 

"That's not funny," Sam grumbled. 

"Actually, it is," Toby nodded. 

"I think you're just riding high still because you got a softball question in the pop quiz," Sam remarked. 

"Toby, who was the greatest Yankee of all time?" SJ asked, trying to bolster her spirits as well as that of the downtrodden speechwriter. 

"You mean there's only one?" he gaped, a child-like glint appearing momentarily in his eyes. "Mantel, DiMaggio.." 

"Gherig," SJ said with a definite nod. 

"Babe Ruth," Sam offered. The two Yankee fans turned to stared at him. 

"What?" Sam said defensively. "He was a great hitter. Name one single baseball player ever who could hit better." 

"Josh Gibson," SJ and Toby said in unison. 

SJ followed up the moment quickly. "Toby, don't get me wrong, but I think I love you." 

"What about me?" Sam asked. 

"Your glasses are smudged," she observed then turned away. 

The President shook his head at the playground exchange but said nothing to his staffers. He stood and thanked their host for a thrilling game and generous hospitality. Such moments were rare, he said, but were one of the most enjoyable part of his job. 

"It's was my pleasure, sir," Marilyn remarked. "And the door is always open for you to return." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Bartlet said exiting just behind his Secret Service detail. Charlie offered his farewell and followed swiftly on the President's heels. The rest of the staff filed out as well. As Josh neared the door, Donna attempted to sneak out beside him. 

"Wait a second, Donna," SJ spoke up. "You're going with us, right?" 

"Yeah," Marilyn said catching the look in SJ's eyes. "Once I get things wrapped up here, we're catching a late dinner." 

"Can we go?" Leo said tersely as he stuck his head back into the room. "Josh, you don't need Donna for this. Donna, go. Take it easy and relax." 

She was grateful to Leo for his reprieve from an evening at her desk waiting for Josh to bark an order at her. Leo nodded his good-bye and left the room, with the senior staff in tow. Josh gave a glance back at Donna then disappeared. 

"Great," Marilyn said as she sported a huge grin. "Let me head back to my office and get the recap of the night. I'll meet you both back here in about half an hour. Donna, make yourself comfortable. SJ, try not to scare her by being you." 

***************** 

Marilyn waited impatiently at a red light as she drove out of Georgetown back toward the Capital region. It was early in her world, but for one of her passengers it was beyond too late. Her other passenger was sitting in the front seat enjoying Marilyn's dilemma. Marilyn took shot a dagger glare at SJ then calmed herself with a deep breath to continue with her so-far unsuccessful questioning. 

"Okay, Donna," she said slowly. "Let's try this one more time--no giggling. Where do you live?" 

"In an apartment with three cats and a roommate," Donna slurred and broke into a forbidden fit of giggles. "It's too early to go home. I want to sing." 

"She wants to sing," SJ nodded. "Maybe she'll sing her address to you." 

"I blame you," Marilyn hissed. "Those were your students who...." 

"Every guy wearing a Georgetown baseball cap is not my student," SJ said. 

"You encouraged her to do shots with them," Marilyn pointed out. 

"I simply said..." 

"Oh, shut up," Donna called from the back seat. "No fighting. It'll interrupt my singing. Did you know I want to sing?" 

"I want you to tell me where you live...," Marilyn continued. 

"I want world peace, if any one is curious," SJ added. 

"We're not and you're positively no help here," Marilyn snapped. 

"Calm down," SJ said confidently. "Let the wordsmith take over. The trick to getting at the truth is all in how you phrase the question. Watch and learn, baseball girl. Donna, what is your address?" 

"PO Box 14587." 

"There," SJ nodded to the driver. 

"So what?" she growled in return. 

"Well, that's even less help than I am," SJ said with a shrug. 

Marilyn continued to drive. In the corner of her eye, she saw a street sign. She looked at the clock in the dash of her Tahoe. It was just before midnight. She did some quick reasoning and decided it was the only logical course of action. She pulled a hard right and changed direction of the car. 

"I'm gonna regret doing this, but we have no other alternative," she said in explanation to SJ's questioning glance. 

"I think I know what you're thinking," SJ said. "I just want you to know that we're definitely moving to Brazil and changing our names first thing tomorrow." 

"Si, Anita," Marilyn replied. 

"Si, Rosalita," SJ added. 

From the back seat, Donna again joined the conversation with her own take. 

"Sea? By the sea," she started to sing, swaying gently in imaginary waves. "By the sea... by the beautiful sea..." 

The arrived in the quiet street. There was a light in the window of the apartment that interested them. Both women in the front seat looked at each other, the way prisoners might before facing a firing squad. They climbed out of the vehicle. 

"He's s going to kill us," Marilyn groaned as she kept Donna from falling on the sidewalk as she stumbled out of the back   
seat. 

"He can't stay mad at either of us," SJ replied as she took Donna's other arm and headed toward the front steps. "Frankly, I'm not intimidated by the guy. What have we ever done that was that bad?" 

"This isn't where I live," Donna offered. "This looks familiar though. Where's here?" 

"We are in front of Josh's apartment," Marilyn informed her. 

"Oh," she said as she tapped her lips with her finger. "I don't live with him. Tell him hello and that he's a real pain in my... Did you ever notice that he has the cutest little behind in all of...." 

Marilyn groaned. "I'm so screwed." 

"Yeah, monumentally," SJ agreed. "You invited her out with us; you picked up the check; you…" 

"Thank you," Marilyn cut her off. "But if I remember correctly, you failed to stop any of this. After he's done with me, he's definitely gonna kill you." 

"Hey, nobody twisted her arm," SJ argued. 

"A twist?" Donna asked as she leaned between the ladies. "Well, I don't know if I can do it sitting down.. Oh wait, I'm standing, aren't I? Okay, then I can do it." 

Donna began twisting in her spot, flailing her arms. Marilyn and SJ had to duck to keep from getting smacked by Donna's long, slender arms. 

"Okay," Marilyn said as she snatched Donna's arm. "It's time to get you upstairs. SJ, a little help..." 

"Sure," the writer said and struck a contemplative pose for a moment. "How about this: You should probably assist her in walking. Does that help?" 

"A bunch," Marilyn said flatly. "Grab her other arm, please. Now, Donna, can you maybe put one foot in front of the other? You know, pretend you're walking." 

SJ laughed quietly as the ascended the steps. She informed Marilyn that this scene was going to make it into a story of hers somewhere at some point. Marilyn said she saw no humor at that point, but she'd love to see how SJ would write anything that absolved her of the fault of this situation. It was then that Donna again got the song bug. 

"Ah, love," Donna grinned as the lyrics tripped over her lips. "L is for the way he looks to me. O is for the only one I see. V is because he is so very, very, extra-ordinary. E is 'cause I love him even more than anyone that he adores..." 

***************** 

The three ladies finally made their way to the apartment door. The traverse up the steps normally took no more than a minute; however, this trip took them seven, for constantly having to pick up Donna, whose knees gave out every fifteen feet. Barely able to contain her own laughing at Marilyn's dire expression, SJ took a deep breath then knocked on the door. 

"This is the police, Mr. Lyman. Come out with your hands up," she barked, and then turned to Marilyn. "That should get his attention." 

"Yeah. That ought to do it," she responded flatly and rolled her eyes. 

"What the hell?" Josh said as he flung the door open. 

Marilyn greeted him with a sugary sweet smile. "Hey, there sweetheart. We, uh, have something for you." 

"Thing One and Thing Two. Great," he said, then noticed the additional member of the group who was being held up. "What's going on? Donna?" 

"Let me just say it's not my fault," Marilyn offered quickly. 

SJ removed Donna's arms from their shoulders and nudged her towards Josh. "And we think it's a good idea that she be with... anyone but us right now. We should be going, right Marilyn?" 

Marilyn nodded and the duo disappeared down the stairs before Josh could utter an objection. 

"What the hell?" Josh exclaimed as Donna stumbled into his arms. 

With no other options available, Josh walked Donna into the apartment and told her to lean back against the wall for a second. He turned away from her momentarily to shut the. 

"Can you make it to the chair or do you need....." 

Donna started to slowly slide down the wall, her limbs becoming limp and her body pooling at the baseboards. Josh grabbed on before her descent was complete. 

"Whoa!" he said, snatched her into hi arms. "Never mind. Let me escort you." 

"Escort?" she giggled. "I thought it was Sammy who liked hookers. How much is that gonna cost me?" 

"We'll call this s freebie; you couldn't afford me." Josh placed his arm around Donna's waist and she puts hers over his shoulder as they made their way over to the couch. "You know, I feel it is my duty to give you a lecture on your current state. This is a most disreputable way to be traipsing around the Capital, Ms. Moss." 

"Oh sure. Wanna ground me too?" 

"I just may." 

"You're. No. Fun," she slurred, poking him on each word: first in the chest, then his nose and finally missing his cheek all together as she stabbed the air before resting her head on his chest. 

Josh sat Donna down on the couch and took the spot next to her. "Yeah, I'm dull. Okay, I have no clue if you understand me right now, but you're not going home. I mean, I don't think its safe to put you in a cab alone and I'm too tired to drive you myself so." 

"What's wrong with you?" 

"Nothing, I'm just tired and I'm not putting you in my car," he said. "I'm not taking chances with my leather seats." 

"You know," she informed him, "I've been thinking about getting leather pants." 

"Well, that's more information than I needed," he responded. "What do you think about going to bed?" 

"Mmm," she purred and laid her head on his shoulder. "Sounds good to me, sexy." 

Josh glanced down at Donna. "Well, okay, but I was thinking more of you going to sleep." 

"Who needs sleep?" Donna argued. "I could be the life of a party right now!" 

"You couldn't find a party right now if it fell in your lap," he countered. 

"Okay," she grinned then flopped down, laying herself across his lap. 

Josh looked down at her momentarily startled. 

"Hi," she smiled, gazing into his confused brown eyes. 

"How ya doin'?" he asked. 

"I'm good, baby; how you doin'?" she asked with a seductive smile, which abruptly faded when she noticed his face. "Uh oh. It's that angry dimple again." 

"I'm sorry? The what?" 

"That," Donna explained and pointed to his right cheek. "The Angry Dimple." 

"Wonderful," he said flatly. "Could you maybe sit up?" 

"I'm comfy here," she grinned. 

"Well, I'm not," he sighed. Josh slid out from underneath Donna and stood. He grabbed her arms, sat her up and pulled her to an upright position. Donna immediately placed her arms around his neck. "Okay, that's it. You're done for the night. Can you walk backward? What the hell, can't be any worse than forward right now, huh?" 

"I don't have my pajamas," Donna told him. 

"Uh, well, you can just sleep in your clothes," he replied as he removed her arms from his neck and turned her around. "Let's go. The bedroom is this way." 

"Right." 

"Left, actually," he corrected her. 

"Right." 

"Whatever," Josh relented and began slowly navigating her out of the living room and down the short hallway. 

"Where are we going?" Donna asked. 

"To bed," he said casually. 

"Oh?" Donna then leaned back into Josh's chest and took his hands that were initially on her shoulders and moved them around her waist. Josh quickly returned them to their original position. 

"I meant, you are going to bed," he clarified "Alone… In the bedroom… Again, alone." 

"Party Pooper," she snorted. 

"I've been called worse." 

Donna let out a giggle. "You're cute." 

"Really," Josh nodded, but not listening. 

"You're a handsome man and you look very hot in this color," Donna proclaimed and reached back to pluck at the collar of his dark blue dress shirt   
.   
"Uh huh," Josh said unenthusiastically. He carefully maneuvered his wobbly assistant through the bedroom door, making certain that she didn't sway her body into the door. He released her for a second to flicked on the light. 

"Augh! Too bright!" she screamed and placed her arm over her eyes. 

"Donna, you're covering your nose, not your eyes," Josh said as he switched off the light. 

"Oh," she said and removed her limb. "Well, it's better in here so I don't need to cover them." 

Josh maneuvered Donna through the dark room towards his bed. "Just don't trip on...." 

Before he finished his sentence, Josh tripped over his shoes on the floor, accidentally shoving Donna face first onto his bed. Donna rolled over on her back in a fit of laughter. 

"So long as you're enjoying this," he commented. 

"You know something..." Donna began as she flung her shoes off, narrowly missing Josh. 

"What?" 

Donna slid back to the head of the bed. "Someday, you'll make a woman very happy." 

"I make lots of women happy every day," he smirked. 

"I need to be happy, Josh," she confessed. 

Josh flipped on the bedside lamp, gauging for her reaction. When she didn't flinch, he sat down next to her. "You're not happy? You've got a good job and work with some important people...." 

"Pish-Posh," she scoffed. 

"Hey, now," he warned her, although his tone suggested levity. "Watch the language" 

"Hey!" she shouted and pointed with an accusing finger. "Put that snarky dimple away..." 

"Again with the..." he shook his head. "What do you do? Name everyone's body parts?" 

"No. Just your dimples," she admitted, blushing slightly. 

"Should I be worried or flattered?" 

"I've named five of them so far," Donna divulged. "I name the expressions for them when they come out to play, but I haven't narrowed them all down just yet." 

"As long as you keep yourself occupied," Josh smirked as he grabbed a blanket. 

"Have to. I have no other life." 

"Sorry about that," he apologized. "It's a temporary assignment though. You might have more time to yourself soon." 

Donna slowly shook her head in disagreement. "Don't wanna. I like it." 

"That's the spirit," Josh nodded. "You don't complain... much. I'll grant you that." 

"I mean, where else could a college drop out work besides The Gap," she said. "Which, by the way, I got fired from because I could never fold the sweaters properly. Bunch of prissy snobs..." 

Donna noticed that Josh's amused dimple made its presence. "You do crack me up, Donna." 

"They only hired me because I was a leggy blonde..." 

"Well, that's why I hired you" 

"You did?" 

"Well... No," Josh clarified. "You had the right attitude. You're good at what you do, Donna. I know I don't say it often enough,   
but you're very important to me." 

"I'm important to you?" she asked surprised. 

"Of course," he reaffirmed. "I don't think anyone else could work with me the way you do. That's impressive." 

"At least I'm impressive at the job level." 

"Don't get maudlin, Donna," Josh warned. "It's beneath you." 

"You gonna tuck me in?" she asked with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows. 

"I.... I don't think so," he said. 

"Tell me a bedtime story?" Donna's eyelids started to feel heavy. 

"I could read you the playbook for the convention," Josh teased, and then looked at her. "Donna? Donna?" 

Josh saw that Donna had finally succumbed to her evening and passed out. He brushed some wayward strands of hair from her face and covered her up. He gently rose from the bead and made his way to the door, taking one last look back at the woman laying in his bed. With a forceful sigh and a hand running through his hair, he made his way to the living room and the briefing memos that awaited him. 

******************** 

The bright Saturday sun streamed through the slats of the blinds of the apartment bedroom. One errant ray landed on the lids of Donnatella Moss. Donna moaned and turned her head to the side and forced her eyes to open, begging for her eyes to focus...focus on anything. When her eyes finally comply, they settled on the night stand and a very familiar phone and pager came into view. 

"What the hell...?" she asked groggily. 

The water from the bathroom ceased and Josh, dressed in jeans and a blue sweater emerged. "It lives." 

"Barely," she moaned. "I think I'd be better if I could take my head off. Where am I?" 

Josh looked at her astonished. "Honeymoon suite at the Mayflower. What you don't remember?" 

"What?!" she screamed and then pressed her hands to her head to try and stop the incessant throbbing. "Ow..." 

"I guess you really don't remember," he snickered. "Well, this is my apartment, my bedroom to be specific. Need further orientation? Okay, out the window you will see our nation's capital; it is located on the east coast near... 

The shock on Donna's face caused Josh's grin to deepen. She buried her face in her hands and moaned. "Oh dear god. What did I do?" 

"What didn't you do, is a better question," Josh responded and made his way to the bed. He sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Oh what a night." 

"Oh my god... Tell me that I didn't... that we didn't..." Donna's already ashen face blanched with terror. 

"Have a most interesting conversation, why yes we did," he confessed. 

"What?" 

"And you say I have a sensitive system," Josh pointed out. "You were in a disgraceful state when Heckle and Jeckyl dumped you on my door step as drunk as Lord Marbury on a.... well, on any day I suppose...." 

"What are you saying?" Donna looked at him. 

"Oh, you had quite a bit to say last night," Josh began leaning against the headboard. "I fought off your advances as much as I could, but in the end, you were stronger than I was.... I mean, a frail, innocent like myself up against your wily ways. I stood no chance really...." 

Donna groaned   
.   
"It's okay," Josh laughed. "You passed out in here. I slept on the couch." 

"So nothing happened?" she asked as the color slowly returned to her cheeks. "That's wonderful!" 

"Contain your enthusiasm or I'll sic a dimple on you." 

"A what?" 

"I mean, you'll have to name it," Josh grinned. "Or add it to the list of those still needing names." 

"No. No, no, no," Donna moaned. "Please, oh please tell me I didn't..." 

"You crack me up," he whispered in her ear. 

Donna flopped back down on the bed, the redness in her cheeks turning a deep crimson. "Ow! My head." 

"Take it easy," he warned her. "You had a rough night." 

Donna pulled the covers over her head. "I think I know what it feels like to spontaneously combust. I've never gotten that drunk before." 

"Well, you have now," Josh replied. "And, let me just say, for what it's worth, whoever he is, he's not worth it." 

"He who?" Donna questioned. 

"He, the guy, the reason you embalmed yourself for the evening," Josh said, waving his hand in her general direction. 

Donna flung the covers off and sat up quickly. She closed her eyes and grabbed Josh's shoulders to control the spinning in her head. "I said what, precisely?" 

"Calm down," he soothed, patting her hands. "I have a pretty high security clearance so whatever you said is safe with me. Really." 

"Josh, what did I say to you?" she implored. 

"Donna, I honestly couldn't tell you," Josh declared. "I wasn't paying that close attention. I was more concerned with getting you some place where you could pass out. I'm glad they dropped you off here though. You were in no shape to be left alone." 

Donna sighed with relief. "Oh well, in that case..." 

"Why? Who is he?" 

"Nobody," she lied. 

"Well, it's somebody," he continued, pressing her further. 

"I just needed to relax," Donna explained, silently begging him to switch subjects. At this point, she'd settle for his relentless teasing. "I guess I got too relaxed. With everything recently..." 

"You can tell me it's none of my business," Josh said, rising from the bed. "I mean, I won't accept that as a real answer, but it's more honest than lying." 

Donna looked at Josh with a straight face. "Josh, it's not for you to concern yourself over." 

"Okay," he relented. "You think you're gonna live?" 

"Yeah, just turn off the light, will you?" she begged motioning towards her left. 

"They rescinded my power to extinguish the sun." 

"Damn," Donna groaned and then gently laid back down, taking the covers with her. 

"Were you thinking of going to work today or were you just going to laze around until your hang over wore off?" he requested. 

Donna dropped the covers enough so her eyes could glare at him. "Work? What day is it?" 

"Saturday," Josh informed her, glancing at his watch. "I have a teleconference with the Midwest finance team in 40 minutes." 

"I've gotta get home," Donna said. She threw the covers off her body and bolted out of bed. The room suddenly began to rotate in her head. 

Josh grasped her elbow to steady Donna, who had begun to rock on her feet. "Hey, easy! Take it slow." 

"I need to go home," she said slowly as the room stopped spinning. "Wait, I've have to find a way home first." 

"Can you work?" 

"I'm feeling not so good," she paused. "Yeah, I can work, but I think I'll be a little late." 

"You can make up the time tomorrow," he smirked as he released her elbow. He grabbed his pager and cell from the night stand. "I'm heading out. There's coffee in the kitchen.... Donna? Donna?" 

When he turned around, he found that Donna had crawled back into Josh's bed. A slender hand snaked its way from underneath and waved good-bye. 

Josh shook his head and left the room, slamming his bedroom door with good measure. Donna moaned and fell back asleep. 

***************** 

"Did I hear right?" Sam asked, poking his head into CJ's office. 

"Depends on what you heard and who you heard it from and....," she paused and looked up from her computer screen. "You know, I'd like one day where I didn't have to answer open-ended questions." 

"Why is that?" Sam asked with a smirk as he wandered into her office. His mirth faded quickly as her glare intensified. "Earl Brennan. He was here to see Leo? That's not about the..." 

"No," CJ said, waving off the anticipated question about the campaign. "Gillette has nothing to do with it. He's here about Ryan." 

"Who?" 

"Moira Ryan," C.J. said as she returned to her keys. "The former United States Ambassador to Ireland." 

"What about her?" 

"She's the former United States Ambassador to Ireland," CJ said again flatly. "Yesterday evening, she announced she would need to be relieved of her duties." 

"Why?" Sam asked. "The ever-volitile relationship between America and the Emerald Isle pushed her over the edge? The rain getting too much for her? Perhaps the Waterford crystal at the last embassy function was no longer up to snuff?" 

"She was diagnosed with breast cancer," CJ said sternly. "She's checking into the Dana Farber Clinic early next week to begin treatment; the tumor is... advanced." 

"Oh," Sam said, chastened. "And Brennan?" 

"He's on the list of possible replacements," CJ responded. 

"That would leave his seat open," Sam surmised. "He was going to face a challenge, a tough one, in his district. This could be good. If we put a more...." 

"I don't care," CJ said. "Sam, I'm sort of the in the middle of something. Could you maybe go have a political orgasm about this with Toby or Josh?" 

"Orgasm?" Sam inquired. "What exactly did you study for politics in school, anyway?" 

"Sam." 

"I'm going," he said, putting up his hands in defeat. "Earl Brennan?" 

"Yeah." 

"Josh must be happy." 

"He was talking with Leo about it when I left them," CJ said. "Apparently Donna had had enough of it." 

"How's that?" Sam asked, turning suddenly and halting his exit. 

"She was at her desk and literally looked sick," CJ continued. "I can only imagine it was because Josh was being... Josh. It has yet to make me physically ill, but I can tell you there have been times when I came close. Then again, he let her come in late." 

"Why?" 

"I don't know," CJ said looking up from her screen. "Something about a late night and anatomy or something. I didn't really listen. He seemed to be in a lively mood so I considered it best not to ask." 

***************** 

Josh left his office and headed to Donna's desk. Her Saturday, which as usual was strikingly like a weekday, was nearly over. The clock had taken its sweet time since she arrived around 11 a.m. She foolishly thought Josh might remember the word compassion. Instead, he spent his free-time, of which there as plenty during the lunch hour, assuaging his juvenile delinquent tendencies by summoning her to his office for nothing, shouting her name to get her attention needlessly and then retelling her the tale of her admissions the night before. The hangover was the only part of the day more annoying that Josh himself. It's not that he was more aggravating that usual, she realized, but that she had nothing to throw back at him or defend herself with. Josh had had his own evening follies in the past but never seemed bothered by them for more than an hour into the work day--as if work itself was the tonic that cured all ills. 

He is a freak, Donna decided and settled back into her desk to finish the background compilation on Earl Brennan Josh wanted so he could smooth things over with the appropriate people and make the State Department happy. To that end, he had one meeting that evening. He needed only get through an informal discussion with Senator Peter Ross on some obscure but vexing bill floating in some committee Donna could not recall then finish the Brennan thing. After that, she could go home and sleep and escape the amused look on Josh's face. 

"What's up?" he asked innocently, appearing at her desk yet again. 

Donna glared at Josh. "Josh, you're going to be late for your meeting with Senator Ross." 

Before he could respond, Zoey Bartlet arrived. She bounded into the room grinning for ambiguous reasons. 

"Hi," she said brightly. "I'm looking for my mother. Have either of you seen her?" 

"She's not here," Josh told her. 

"Really," she rolled her eyes. "Wow, Josh. No wonder you're so important." 

"I have Ross now?" he turned to Donna. 

Donna picked up a folder from a rack on her desk and handed it to the Deputy. "Yes. In the Mural Room." 

"Great," he sighed, taking the folder. "Donna. Zoey." 

"Josh," Zoey giggled as she mocked his suddenly serious tone. 

Donna sighed in relief as he departed. She rested her elbows on her desk then placed her head in her hands and sighed. "Thank god." 

"What was he doing now?" 

"What isn't he doing?" Donna groaned. "On top of everything else, it's April. I'm just waiting for him to start in on the anniversary that isn't." 

"The what?" Zoey asked. "Oh, you mean from when you left and then came back; he still does that?" 

"Yes," Donna said. "He may have finally forgotten so I would appreciate it if you did nothing to remind him." 

Zoey shook her head 

"No," Zoey promised. "I wouldn't. That was so sad--when you left, I mean. Josh was no fun for a while. He was cranky, like he got dumped at the prom or something." 

"Josh acted like he got dumped?" Donna asked as she started transcribing notes. "Well, it wasn't like that. It was sweet of him to take me back like he did; which is why it is so infuriating for him to go through his stupid little snarky revenge every year. He's such a... a..." 

"Sweetheart?" Zoey offered. 

"Child!" Donna snapped, stabbing at the keys. 

"Yeah, I guess so," Zoey agreed. "But he did miss you. He wouldn't hire anyone to replace you. Leo told him to get someone at least a hundred times. That's one thing I just don't get. Leo is like this mentor for Josh, but he doesn't listen to him all that often does he?" 

"When it suits him he does," Donna smirked. 

"Usually people who do that don't go far in a place like this," Zoey observed. 

"True," Donna concurred. "But Josh is not usual. He's not a bad person; I mean, he can be very sweet when he isn't being Politician Man, one of the lessor known super heroes." 

Donna's assessment was met by a round of giggles from Zoey. 

"Don't tell him I said those things," she warned Zoey, who giggled again. "He's behind me right now, isn't he?" 

"What?" Zoey asked. "No, it's just funny. The way you pretend and all. Both of you. It's like watching a play. You both have your lines down almost perfectly." 

"Pretend?" Donna asked as her brows crinkled in confusion. "I'm not following." 

"Come on," Zoey protested, sitting on the corner of Donna's desk. "I'm not dense, Donna. I mean I can see it. Everyone can. You like Josh." 

"What?! I do not." 

"I think it's cute," Zoey grinned. 

A rosy shade filled Donna's cheeks. "Zoey... I ... I mean... you're so off the charts here." 

"Oh, you don't need to fake it with me," the Presidents youngest daughter proclaimed. "There's no reason to be embarrassed. I mean he likes you, too, in his own weird way. I don't know why you don't just ask him out." 

"He does not like me," Donna pointed out. "He is my boss. And I'm not going to ask him out." 

"You should," Zoey continued. "He'll never find the words to ask you. You can tell that he's that way. It's up to you to make the first move. So what if he's your boss?" 

"So what?" Donna protested. "You do remember where we work? It wouldn't look right. Besides, he'd laugh and say no anyway." 

"He'd probably drop dead of a heart attack," Zoey grinned. "Too much pent up sexual tension being tapped into all at once. It might kill him." 

"Zoey! Don't say that out loud." 

"What? About the sexual tension?" 

"Shh!" 

"Like its not the first time you heard it," Zoey replied, noticing that the shade in Donna's cheek grew redder. "Donna, please. I'm not a child. I can sense it between the two of you." 

"Josh has a certain belligerent charm and he's handsome in his own way," Donna admitted. "I suppose a few women around here think he's...." 

Zoey nodded in agreement. "Yeah, some of them. But you most of all." 

"It's a casual observation, that's all," Donna pointed out. 

"Oh wow." 

"What?" 

Zoey's smile grew wider at her latest discovery. "I didn't think it was like that." 

"Like what?" Donna asked as she resumed her typing. 

"I mean, I thought it was just curiosity," Zoey admitted. "You work together in intense moments and with some really involved stuff. I never realized you liked him liked him. I mean, this is deep like, isn't it? Wow. That's so cool." 

Donna stood at walked to the file cabinet. "Zoey, it's nothing. Josh and I don't have a thing." 

"So you call it a thing already?" Zoey asked, facing her. 

"No," Donna said defensively. 

Zoey scanned Donna's desk area. "Has he given you flowers this year for your anniversary yet?" 

"Thankfully, not." 

"Maybe he'll take you to dinner this time." 

Donna returned to her desk and emphatically sat down. "We don't have time for dinner, unless it's takeout and it's being eaten at his desk." 

"Cozy, private and intimate," Zoey continued. 

"Zoey." 

"You go to his place sometimes, don't you?" Zoey asked. 

Donna nodded. "On occasion, yes. But it's for work." 

Zoey crossed her arms in disbelief. "Sure. No one else in this building works like that. Leo is the busiest of all of you and he doesn't usually take work home and if he does, Margaret doesn't go with him. Do you have a key to his apartment?" 

"Leo's?" 

"No, Josh." 

"Yes," Donna sighed. "I have it because of what happened a few...." 

"He didn't ask for it back?" Zoey asked. 

"No, but a lot has happened to him," Donna said. "He probably just forgot." 

"All right!" Zoey exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Wow, this is so exciting. Can I be a bridesmaid? Please. I was a flower girl in Liz's wedding and no one else ever asked me to be in theirs. I want to be the maid of honor. Can I?" 

Donna threw her hands up and rolled her chair back. "Whoa, back the truck up. Josh and I are not getting married. We are not dating.." 

"You have a thing," Zoey corrected. 

"No thing. Sorry." 

"I'm not sorry," Zoey smiled. "I think it's so cute. I mean, you two found each other in the middle of the craziness of a presidential campaign. You are from thousands of miles apart, different backgrounds. It's so romantic." 

"No offense here, Zoey," she grumbled, "but what is it going to take to change subjects?" 

Zoey shook her head. "I can go have this conversation with Josh when he's done his meeting if you prefer." 

Donna quickly rolled forward and grabbed Zoey's arm. "NO! You stay right here. Or better yet, your mother's in the Mess with Leo... No, stay right here." 

"I think green, a deep green, would be a good shade," Zoey said out loud to herself. 

"For what?" 

Zoey looked at Donna with a wink. "My Maid-of-Honor dress for your wedding." 

"Oh god, tell me this isn't happening," Donna groaned as she buried her face in her hands. 

Zoey continued with the torture. "I would say you should write your own vows, but I bet Josh would get Sam to do it for him." 

Donna moaned. 

"Where would be a good place for a honeymoon?" she thought. "I can help you with picking that, too. Something tropical--I mean, with a December wedding and all, you're gonna want to go some place where there is sun." 

Donna looked up. "December?" 

"Of course it will be December," Zoey scoffed. "Congress is out of session then. Josh won't have much to do. He can take time off without bellyaching too much." 

"Zoey, please." 

"Tahiti" 

"Tahiti?" 

"Yes." Zoey nodded. "That's where you should go--Tahiti. It's tropical and beautiful and peaceful. No one to bother you. No business of state to get you out of bed at dawn." 

"Zoey, please..." 

"Take a lot of pictures, okay," Zoey requested. When she saw Donna's eyes grow large, she clarified. "I mean, I'm gonna want to see the island." 

"I'm not going to Tahiti in December," Donna stated emphatically. "I'm not going anywhere in December." 

"And let me be the first to suggest Zoey Patricia as a name," Zoey continued, ignoring Donna's diatribe 

"A name for what?" 

"For your baby." 

"WHAT?!" Donna screamed. Everyone in Operations turned to look at her. Donna casually waved them back to their duties and lowered her voice. "Zoey, that's crazy." 

"No, your babies will be so adorable," she countered. "I'll baby sit." 

"Josh and I are not having babies,' Donna denied. "We are not getting married. We are not dating. End of story." 

Zoey cocked her head to the side, deep in thought. "I don't see him getting down on one knee and proposing; not Josh's style. I hope he knows how to pick out a diamond." 

"I'm not his type," Donna said, with a hint of sadness in her voice. 

"And his type is what, according to you, the future Mrs. Lyman?" Zoey smirked. 

Donna sat back in her chair and pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the future Mrs. Lyman. He needs someone who's intelligent, educated, with a little twist in their sense of humor." 

"But not someone who's the female version of him," Zoey added. "That's why it didn't work out between him and Joey Lucas or he and Amy Gardner or...." 

Josh entered the bullpen. "Donna, where are the numbers from the last audit on the thing?" 

Donna stood and went to the filing cabinet. "Hold on." 

"Josh, who around here is smart and a little twisted when it comes to their sense of humor?" Zoey asked pointedly. 

"You mean besides Donna?" he smirked, taking the folder from Donna's hands and returned to his meeting. 

Zoey looked at Donna with a confident smile, proving her point. 

"That's not fair," she argued. 

"All's fair in love and war," Zoey shot back. 

"War I'll give you," she conceded, "but love? No way." 

"Well, I think anyone who knows Josh can see," Zoey said standing. She walked over to a side table and glanced at Donna's pictures. "I mean, even if they couldn't, how jealous he gets of whomever you start seeing is proof enough." 

"That's not jealousy," Donna pointed out closing the file drawer. "That's him being him." 

Zoey picked up a picture of Donna and Josh that sat on the corner of Donna's desk. "Kind of like when he prevents you from dating someone else." 

"That's Josh being juvenile." 

Zoey showed Donna the picture. "He's just looking out for the mother of his children, that's all." 

Donna snatched the picture out of Zoey's hands and placed it back in its location. 

"Can't you just imagine them?" Zoey sang, twirling around. "Little blond children with dimples..." 

"No I cannot picture them," she said shortly. 

"Sure you can" 

"I'm not going to," she snipped. 

Zoey nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just keep your mind on Tahiti. I mean, you're gonna want to enjoy that time together. Because once the children arrive, it's gonna be hectic." 

"I am not going to enjoy the time in Tahiti because..." 

"You want to jump right in and have the children right off?" Zoey exclaimed, eyes widening. "Yeah, I can see that. It's not like you two need to get used to each other or anything." 

"Let me say this again:" Donna said, pointing a finger at her. "We are not having children; we are not getting married; we are doing nothing." 

Zoey chuckled at how defensive Donna was getting. "I'll be your Lamaz coach too, if you need one. There's no chance Josh can handle that." 

"Will anything make you stop?" she sighed. 

"Tell me I will be a part of your wedding and I'll let this drop until I see your ring," she demanded, the sound of her voice matching the smile on her lips. 

Donna threw up her hands in defeat. "Fine." 

"Zoey, do you attend college at all?" Josh asked as he returned, a scowl spread across his face that signaled a not-so-successful meeting. 

Zoey winked at Donna. "I do." 

She then left with a small skip down the hall humming the strains of "Here Comes the Bride." Donna leaned down on her desk and buried her head in her arms. 

"Do I even want to ask?" Josh said as he watched the youngest Bartlet leave. 

"Please don't." 

"I have to...." 

"No, really you don't," she argued. 

"What was she talking about?" he continued. "She and Charlie aren't...." 

"No, nothing like that," she completed his thought. 

"Good," he nodded. "They're too young and he's too busy. Besides, I don't need those kind of complications in my campaign." 

"You think so? Well, see, that's where you're wrong." 

"What?" 

"Not everybody is too young to get married, Josh," she pointed out. 

"Like who?" Josh asked, taking a seat on the corner of her desk. 

"Like me.. .like you," she pointed out. 

"You and I aren't too young to get married?" he smirked and then noticed that Donna started to get flush. "Donna, do you feel okay? You look all... red...." 

"I feel fine," she declared as she returned to her typing. 

Josh placed a hand on her shoulder, looking concerned. "You sure?" 

"Yeah," she replied, briefly touching his hand. 

"Okay," he smiled, standing. "I've got to call Raj Patel over at State; I can't take any other calls, okay? And, while I'm doing this, I need whatever you can find on tourism and the South Pacific; pool data on airfares, travel trends, whatever. Pick a couple islands." 

"What ones?" 

"A couple of the Polynesians, the Society Islands," he said casually. "Bora Bora, Tahiti, like that." 

Donna's mouth suddenly became dry. "T-Ta-…Tahiti? Uh, why?" 

Josh stopped at his doorway and turned towards her. "Senator Ross and the whole air travel thing I just was in a meeting about. You know, the pricing wars that some loud lobbyists want the President to regulate. He said something about those and supply and demand formulas that was the biggest load of bull I've had thrown my way since the NRA denounced trigger locks. Donna, are you sure you're okay?" 

"I'm okay," she replied with a nervous laugh. "Just thought you were treating me to a vacation, that's all." 

"You do this, help me sew up the election and I'll take you anywhere on the planet," he smiled. 

"Don't get my hopes up, Joshua," Donna rolled her eyes. 

"I never break my promises to you," he declared. 

"You don't," she smiled. "Besides, what fun would it be to go on an island vacation alone?" 

"Huh?" 

"The supposed trip you're promising me if we win both the nomination and the election," Donna reiterated. 

"If I'm sending you some place on my bank account, I'll be going, too," Josh informed her. 

"You will not go," she disagreed with a smirk. "I think taking a vacation will kill you. And then you'll be of no use to me then." 

"You have uses for me?" he smirked. "Donna, really, fantasies are nice and all, but this is a place of serious business..." 

"Josh." 

The Deputy grinned and pointed inside his office. "I'm gonna go in here now. In about an hour, get us dinner, okay?" 

"Which take out place tonight?" she asked. 

"Surprise me." 

"On my salary, get ready for McDonalds." 

"Whatever," he called. "And keep May 15 open--we're all going to the thing for Brennan and I'm going to need you there for some running. Oh, and we're not going to Manchester for the 4th this year." 

"Because of the convention?" 

"No, because of renovations," Josh said. "President is having work done at the farm and they're gonna be up to their eyes in construction debris." 

"So, I'm free that weekend?" 

"No," Josh replied. "We're all doing a final group war room for the convention." 

"Where?" 

"Camp David," Josh said with a mild groan.   
  
  
  


**Up Next, Chapter 19:**

**The White Knight Syndrome**


	19. The White Knight Syndrome

**Title**: **THE QUEST**, **The White Knight Syndrome** (Chapter 19)   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Posted**: March 18, 2002   
**Homepage**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com   
**Notes**: _You might notice that the chapter name changed from the advertised "Campfire Confessions" to "The White Knight Syndrome." We figured if Aaron can do it at least twice this season (The Butterball Express: The Indians in the Lobby; and The Iowa Caucus: The Two Bartlets) then what the hell. So can we._   
  
  


"Unbelievable!" Toby fumed as he stormed through the Northwest entrance of the west wing. "He actually thinks that I would let him do it again." 

"Well, I see you are your sweet sunshine self this morning, Tobus," CJ said as met the cantankerous speech writer. "What happened?" 

"Sam," he huffed. "He actually thought that I would stop at that coffee place." 

"Hey!" Sam wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "You left me!" 

"You wanted coffee from that coffee place. And I was sick and tired of hearing you drone on and on about how wonderful it is. You're young   
enough to make the walk back to the office." 

"Well it is," Sam said. 

"What place is it?" CJ asked. 

"It's that new one around the corner," Sam smiled. "Len's Poppytwist. They have the most fabulous coffee there. Fresh roasted. I get a cup   
every morning and every afternoon. It's like they have some secret family recipe or something." 

"Oh yeah, I know that place," CJ said. "They have the best bagels. They're always fresh out of the oven." 

"This isn't happening to me," Toby moaned. "For the love of god, it's just coffee and bagels!" 

"Looks like someone didn't stop for their mocha freeze this morning," CJ smirked. 

"I can't get over their coffee," Sam continued taking a sip of the golden java. "It's like they grow their own cocoa beans down in the   
basement." 

"I think there's a way for you to find out, Sam." 

"How's that Toby?" 

"You'll be filling out an application soon if you don't stop talking about that place," he said simply. 

"Right," Sam said. "You think they deliver?" 

"Sam!" 

"Toby," CJ began, "didn't I see you come out of that place a couple of days ago with your mocha freeze that you kept raving about after the State of the Union?" 

"It wasn't mine… I got it for Ginger – to go along with her strawberry Danish." 

"Right…" CJ smirked and turned her attention to Sam. "So, has your mother decided on whether or not she's coming to Miami?" 

"Uh, no" Sam said, staring at his coffee. "But I can call and find out." 

Sam turned on his heels and headed down the corridor towards his office. 

"I thought that things were… better between them," CJ said. 

"Obviously not," Toby replied. "Come see me after your briefing. I have some things to go over with you in regards to Brennan's party." 

"Yeah." 

******************

"Son, what's so fascinating?" the newly-retired Congressman Earl Brennan said as he clapped Josh on the shoulder. Brennan had been working the crowd--a larger than expected turn out for his retirement from Congress--thanking those who helped him gain his new post as Ambassador to Ireland and grinning victoriously to those who did not. 

"I'm sorry?" Josh replied, snapping from his trance. "Congr... I mean, Ambassador. How are you?" 

"Not the Ambassador yet," Brennan said with a twinkling smile. "I can't thank you enough, Joshua. How much do I owe you now?" 

"Just don't start a war over there," he shrugged. "We'll call it even." 

"We certainly will not," Brennan disagreed. "You were the best Chief of Staff I ever had, you've kept my head above water in close elections and kept me in the loop on the ins and outs of my colleagues' shenanigans..." 

"Shenanigans?" Josh repeated. "It's not St. Patrick's Day and this isn't a Rotary Club meeting." 

"It's my natural bonhomie," Brennan argued but saw Josh's doubtful expression. "Okay, so it's a load of bull, but it's my style." 

"I remember." 

"I have no doubt," Brennan laughed then turned to his shadowing companion. "You remember Morgan Greene?" 

Josh shook hands with the man as he greeted him. 

"Sure," Josh said. "The hardest working divorce lawyer in the District. Who's head is on the block tonight, Morgan?" 

"Mine," the attorney said. "My wife hates these things, but I have to make the rounds. I have several clients here. Don't eye the room. You'd never know who they were and I'd never say." 

"A silent barracuda," Brennan said in a jolly fashion. "Josh, I think I own as much of my career success to Morgan as to you." 

"You certainly employed him longer," Josh said flatly. 

"I learned my lesson," Brennan replied. "Fourth time is the charm." 

"You've been married five times," Josh pointed out. 

"Yeah, and the fourth time was the last time I married the wrong woman," Brennan said. "Agatha and I have an understanding. We married for the right reasons and none of them was love. When you make the mistakes I've made, you have to make a choice. Either be alone and miserable or decide that marriage is a business, Josh. Agatha's a woman with good business sense. We don't muck it up with feelings or emotion. We're partners." 

"He keeps me on speed dial still," Greene offered. "How's the campaign shaping up, Josh?" 

Josh gave the pat answer that things were going well and that the convention was going to really start the ball rolling. He confidently and only Earl Brennan knew how much bluster and bluffing he was doing. After pledging his continuing support and offering any assistance needed to the campaign, Greene struck out into the crowd to search for his disgruntled wife. 

"He's a good man to know," Brennan said in his wake. 

"So am I," Josh said, gazing across the room at a cluster of women gathered near the balcony. One in particular caught his sights. 

"I've known that since the moment I heard you arguing with Senator Byrd's aide in the rotunda," Brennan said. "I'd seen you around and heard of you, but that day.... I said to myself, that boy has to work for me. I should have never let you leave. I know moving on was what you needed to do, but I can't help but wondering what if...." 

Brennan paused as he realized that his former employee was no longer listening. Distraction was not a trait he had ever seen Josh display. Brennan was what many in the press called an old-time Washington insider. He knew more about the private lives of his friends, colleagues and enemies than most of their own closest friends and co-workers. He knew about Josh's therapy sessions--both in the past and in more recent years. His former-Chief-of-Staff's uncharacteristic change in demeanor worried the new Ambassador until he zeroed in on the object of his distraction. 

"She's much more interesting than my reminiscing," Brennan agreed with a chuckle. 

"Who?" Josh responded as he fought to return his attention ton to the conversation. 

"Your assistant," Brennan said in a soft approving tone. "Unless your staring at Congressman Balfour..." 

"What?" Josh said shaking his head and focusing again. "Yeah. No. I mean, no not Balfour and... I wasn't.... I was just seeing where Donna was." 

"You were staring at her," Brennan corrected him with a pleased grin. 

"Don't start," Josh shook his head. "Donna is just my assistant. I was... thinking of... of a thing." 

"Joshua," Brennan chided. 

"I was," Josh argued, feeling that odd filial relationship with Brennan that had been there since the day they met. 

Brennan was nothing like Josh's father, yet he had this way about him that carried with it a father-like status. He was the wise uncle who knew just what your father would say to you in a moment of need and would tell you a dirty joke in the very next breath. 

"I was just seeing what Donna... Donna Moss, she's my assistant," Josh said, trying to affect a business-like tone. "I was seeing what she was doing. That's all." 

"I know who Donna is," Brennan replied. "She's a sweet girl. Very pretty and undeniably devoted to you. I hear that she's also a very competent assistant, too." 

"What are you getting at?" 

"If you're not ready to see it yourself then I can't tell you, son," Brennan smiled. 

"This is getting old," Josh sighed. "My fictious relationship with Donna has grown into an urban legend. There's nothing there. We work together. That's it." 

"Doesn't have to be," Brennan offered. 

"You are leaving the continent in 24 hours and will be doing god-only-knows what damage to our relationship with Ireland soon enough," Josh sighed. "Congressman, try, please, please, try not to start any of your patented little personal bonfires that I and about 100 other people, who have better things to do, end up running around and putting out before they turn into political conflagrations." 

"A piece of advice, son," Brennan relented. 

"From you? I thought I was the one who always advised you." 

"Just humor the old man would you?" Brennan requested. 

"In your declining years, what the hell," Josh shrugged. 

"Thank you," Brennan said. "Now, don't roll those eyes of yours when I say this. I'm a crafty, old, sonofabitch who knows more than you do about screwing up a personal life so listen and learn." 

"Should I take down notes so your biographer gets the words exact?" 

"Joshua, I'm serious," Brennan commanded with a stern stare. 

"Yes, sir," Josh replied, stifling his scoffing. 

"The ways of the heart are like a piece of legislation," Brennan explained. "You think you know what its saying. You think you control it. You work with it and tweak things and think that's that. But then it takes on a life of its own. It does things that you never thought it could or would." 

"Is this some Irish trait that you're polishing for schmoozing on the other side of the Atlantic?" 

"I don't need polish, but your listening skills do," Brennan said. "You must frustrate the hell out of Leo." 

"Hourly," Josh nodded solemnly. 

"He's resisted strangling you this long, so I think you're safe--from him," Brennan continued. "Now, shut up and listen. You are looking at that beautiful, charming woman with more than professional interest whether or not you realize it. Caring for someone and letting her into your life is not unprofessional. Abuse of power and position is, but caring for someone is not nor is acting on those feelings in an honest manner. Now, you may recall that I love to fish. Love is like fishing...." 

"Okay, it's segue's like which killed us every time you got the spotlight," Josh remarked and received a disapproving stare. "Sorry, you were talking about something irrelevant that I am listening to with rapt attention all the same." 

"Yes," Brennan continued forcefully. "I was about to say the love is like fishing. You cast your line out there. You keep some; you release some. Some just get away. Those are the ones that you regret, Josh: the ones you didn't go after. You're always left wondering: Was that the best of them all? I speak from experience. It happened to me. I thought I had the best catch in the country, but I let her get away. I had her; she was right there and I made the greatest mistake of all. I let my idea of professional duty stand between us. After that, I settled for three others that never really satisfied me. And I had to throw them all back. I never did get the chance to reel in that one special catch ever again." 

"You're allergic to fish," Josh pointed out. 

Leo appeared to congratulate Brennan just as Josh finished speaking. 

"Leo, you aren't hitting him hard enough," Brennan said in a perturbed fashion. 

"I'll work on," Leo promised. 

*************** 

The weeks passed and the convention drew near. As promised, the staff was not take to Manchester for a Fourth of July gathering at the President's farm. However, not long after the holiday weeked, they were spirited off to Camp David. A place they were about as wild over as the President himself. 

"Good evening, Mr. President," Leo said as he approached the Commander-in-Chief where he sat on the porch of the main lodge. 

"Where are they?' 

"The staff?" 

"Yeah," Bartlet said gruffly. 

The early evening meeting with his faithful staff had seemed more like the contentious briefings of nearly four years earlier with the strangers Leo brought in to run the campaign. They were concerned and felt comfortable enough to express that concern. For that, Bartlet was gratified. That they all agreed worried him and put him in an odd circumstance. Their group discussions rarely sounded like a team Xerox production, so the President was uneasy when no one was played Devil's Advocate in their last meeting. It meant one of two things: they were missing some vital point or they were right. Bartlet wasn't sure which one he feared more. 

"They're as you ordered: away from you," Leo said dryly taking a seat beside his friend. 

"Doing what, specifically?" 

"Taking the night off," Leo replied. "I think it's best." 

"They're going to kill each other," Bartlet observed without sounding too worried. 

"They were agreeing." 

"Yet they do it by arguing with each other," Bartlet pointed out. "Leo, is there something going on outside my political peripheral vision that you're strategically not letting me see?" 

"Frequently," Leo nodded. "But your political peripheral isn't that great so it's pretty easy. However, in this case, they're all just a little leery. Things have gone reasonably well the last few weeks and the convention is a lock. We have some areas where we need to shore up things, but we're in good shape." 

"As good as can be expected," Bartlet observed. 

"With us, I'll take that," Leo said. "They're used to the other shoe dropping right about now." 

"Hoynes?" 

"He's always worried them," Leo said. "He should. He worries me. He worries you." 

"He doesn't worry me," Bartlet announced. "He... vexes me on occasion. That's not the same as worry." 

"Right, or you would have used the same word," Leo offered. "Personally, I think the guy's an unmitigated pain in the ass, but he's ours." 

"Hard to believe that Hallmark hasn't offered you a job." 

"Sir, don't get me wrong," Leo said. "I'm not saying he's _not_ dangerous. The guy's a political mercenary and probably wouldn't mind if a piano fell from the sky and hit the lot of us 10 seconds after you take the Oath of Office, but he's not going to arrange it, and that's a lot considering the state of the world." 

"Ever the optimist," Barltet said. "The staff can worry themselves into insomnia if they want, but Hoynes is not going to do anything at the convention. I know about his speech; I've read parts of it. It's... It's John Hoynes. We know him; we know what he likes to do and how he likes to do it. Toby and Josh are paying him too much attention." 

"Maybe so," Leo agreed with a shrug. "But that's what we pay them to do." 

"I thought we paid them to give you headaches and make me sound good?" 

"Well, that's why we have Sam." 

"And what's CJ? Decoration?" 

"Sometimes cooks around the holidays," Leo added. "Plus, she keeps Toby out of my hair some days." 

"So they're all playing nice, far from me?" the President asked. 

The Chief of Staff then explained his explicit orders to the troops: No work for the evening. Which he and the President knew would translate as: Don't bother the President or Leo for a few hours. Bartlet was pleased they were going to at least pretend they were going to relax. He knew there was a long campaign still ahead and his own mistakes, faux pas and slips of the tongue had not made that road any easier. He listened to Leo's detailing of the staff's plans in a detached way until a word caught his ears. 

"Did you say fire?" Bartlet interjected with alarm. 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "They've got a little bonfire going over near the horseshoe pits. Ginger checked with the grounds keepers and security; it's fine. Sanctioned, in fact. It'll be good for them." 

"Right," Bartlet replied. "I'll have the agents watching--just in case." 

**************** A quarter mile from the President's lodge, the staff was doing its level best to follow Leo's orders. 

"Knock it off, the both of you!" CJ exclaimed and threw a marshmallow at Sam and glared at Toby. "No shop talk." 

"We have a speech to write," Toby said. "We could do it telepathically, but I worry about letting Sam into my head. Frankly, I don't even like letting him get into my car." 

"This is about the coffee, isn't it?" Sam asked. 

"No, it's about you spilling coffee," Toby sighed. 

"I said I was sorry," Sam offered. 

"And clumsy," CJ added. "He did admit to being a klutz." 

"Yeah, but do you know how much it costs to get the vinyl cleaned in a 10 year old Dodge Dart?" Josh asked. 

"I wouldn't worry about cleaning costs," CJ continued. "The coffee probably disintegrated the ancient material on contact..." 

"I like my car," Toby continued. "Do you know why it's 10 years old?" 

"Because you're cheap?" Josh ventured. 

"Because I take care of it," Toby intoned. "It has survived to it's age..." 

"The Rust Age," CJ cut in. "I saw one at the Smithsonian last month. It was outside so I'm not sure if it was part of an exhibit they were setting up or someone just abandoned it...." 

"You're wrong," Sam said emphatically, causing all eyes to swivel to him. "I mean, it's not like acid. It's good coffee. It really is." 

"Oh, for God's sake, Sam," Donna sighed explosively. "Will you just stop talking about the coffee? It's warm, brown water." 

"Like the Potomac in August," Josh offered. 

The group fell silent for several moments. The crackling of the fire as the wood hissed and popped in the flames. Finally, CJ could take no more of the solitude. 

"Okay, game time, kids," she announced. "I vote for Truth or Dare." 

"Yeah, because we haven't got enough trouble already," Toby groaned. 

"Are you volunteering to be the first victim?" she asked. 

"I can sue you for a thousand things and you know it," Toby said. "Bother someone else." 

"Okay, so we'll just say Toby told us he wore his sister's pink dress once as a child," CJ concluded. "Who's next?" 

Sam covered his mouth to hid the smirk that was chisel on his face. A plethora of J. Edgar Hoover comments sprang readily to his mind, but he refrained from voicing them. There was the Cincinnati text to write still, and Toby in a foul mood would just mean more needless rewrites and belligerent comments when the draft was done. Thankfully, the darkness was nearly complete and with the dark skies came some visitors that caught Josh's attention. 

"Are those stars?" he asked looking upward from his place where he sat with his back leaning against a felled log serving as a bench. 

"Are you looking to name one, because I think it's been done," CJ offered. 

"No," Josh said shaking his head and staring into the enveloping depths of the sky. "I was just... Do you know how longs it's been since I actually saw these? I see sunrises all the time. But stars? I can't recall the last time." 

It was a sobering thought for the group. They too cast glances skyward. 

"Did you know that on an average clear night you can see roughly 2500 stars?" Donna offered in their silence. "I read that some place." 

"She's right," Toby agreed. "My brother used to always tell me little details like that. You couldn't really see stars much in Brooklyn--too much light--but when you got outside the City... Another world. And now he's been up there with them. You want your truth or dare, CJ? That's mine. I'm jealous." 

"Who wouldn't be?" Sam remarked. "So when was the last time any of us looked up at them like this?" 

"Probably the last time we weren't surgically attached to a beeper or cell phone," CJ sighed. 

"I miss a simple meal," Toby said evenly. "Just sitting down at home or in a restaurant, just to eat a meal in peace. No TV, no meetings, no making sure someone saw who I was sitting with or making sure I said just certain words so that my point was made. Just eating, quietly. No rushing, no dealing. None of that." 

"Movies, too," Sam continued. "Or TV for that matter. Do any of your recall the last time you watched something just because you wanted to? Just for entertainment?" 

"See, you all miss stuff like that," Donna interrupted. "And I can see why, but you wouldn't change any of this just to have those kind of moments back. I might not have a choice. This is your life, these jobs you do. After this job is the next and the next. This is your world. It's not mine. It scares me that it could be over." 

"Donna, it's not just you," Toby reassured her. "It scares me, too." 

"Okay, now that Toby has just blown my mind twice in less than 15 minutes, I guess we are playing Truth or Dare," CJ said. "I gotta ask this. Josh?" 

"I'm not scared," he replied instantly. 

"I don't mean now," CJ explained. 

"When?" 

"When?" she gasped back at him in disbelief. "Your dare is to kiss Toby so you'd better answer." 

"I'm sorry?" Toby snapped. "No. That is not a dare and... and.... Josh, she means at Rosslyn. Answer the damn question and keep your lips to yourself." 

"That's what he said when he broke up with Amy," Sam offered, then caught annoyed stares from all sides. "Sorry." 

"Josh?" CJ pressed. "Am I out of line? I don't mean to pry if you don't want to... I've always wondered, is all." 

"He can talk about it," Donna said and caught a questioning glare from Josh. "Well, you can." 

"How do you know?" he asked. 

"Because you told me," Donna replied. "He's not uncomfortable, CJ. He just doesn't want to make any of you uncomfortable." 

"We never asked," CJ shrugged. "It just never seemed to be... a good time. Things were... We all moved on." 

"So did I," Josh shrugged. 

"Were you scared?" Toby asked, following up on CJ's faltering questioning. 

"No," Josh answered instantly and caught disbelieving stars from his colleagues. "I wasn't. There wasn't time. I didn't know what was going on. I'm not sure what I remember versus what is a constructed memory from seeing the news accounts and reading about it. I remember the sounds of the gunshots. I remember being cold. I remember hearing the sirens. I'm not sure, but I think I remember seeing Toby. Then.... I'm not certain of anything until I remember waking up and the President was talking to me. Then, later my mother was sitting by my bed pretending she wasn't crying." 

"I found you," Toby said, unnecessarily. "I... I didn't think you'd make it." 

"Why?" Donna asked. 

"Because I saw what I saw," Toby replied, concentrating on his hands. "Waiting at the hospital, I remember thinking a hospital ER is never that quiet; it seemed like a sign. Then we heard the President was going to be fine, but we were going to have to wait half a day to find out if.... There were things to do, but I found myself writing." 

"You didn't do any writing," Sam interrupted. 

"In my head," Toby explained. "I was writing, in my head." 

"What?" CJ asked. 

Toby said nothing. Josh read the grimace on his face and guessed the answer. 

"My eulogy?" Josh ventured as he looked at Toby to which the speech writer nodded. "What would you have said?" 

"That you were conceited and arrogant and overly-opinionated and high maintenance and shot off your mouth more times than was wise," Toby replied instantly. 

"Very nice," Josh nodded admid his colleagues' snickering. "Keep working on it; we'll get it typed up for when I actually kick off. Maybe we can get Trent Lott or read it over a loud speaker..." 

"I'm not finished," Toby silenced him and the mirth surrounding them. "You are all those things--in abundance--but you also understand politics the way Bobby Fisher understands a chessboard. Leo made you his second in command and that speaks volumes. We are all part of this team, and there isn't a one of us that hasn't done amazing things for it. Without you, Sam would not be my deputy; without you, Donna wouldn't work in the White House and doesn't end Stackhouse's filibuster last year; without you we wouldn't have taken Illinois the first time. Without Illinois, no California; no California, no nomination. All our lives are so interconnected that to remove one would have broken the chains that tether this administration together. Something like that." 

"That wasn't bad," Josh said appreciatively. "But I'm still not going to kiss you." . 

Instantly, he received a slap on the back of the head from Donna. 

"Okay, I knew you were going to do that," Josh said, turning to face her. 

"And you didn't stop me," Donna mused. "I guess you can be taught." 

"I'd have said something nice, too," Sam said. 

He made it a point to strategically intervene in their bantering whenever he could. Close and informal situations like this, and like the ones that were going to crop up more and more as the campaign rolled on, scared him more than in-office banter. At least the office was a more structured atmosphere. Here, the lines between professional positions blurred. 

"Like what?" CJ asked him, looking curiously at his tense expression. 

"I'm sorry, what?" Sam asked, registering her question a moment late. 

"What would you have said?" she asked again, sporting a curious expression. 

"Well, I'd have said...," Sam paused, searching for something and failing. "Well, it would have been something nice." 

"Know what would be really nice?" Toby asked. "If Cincinnati was done, you know, like you told Leo it would be." 

Sam took the signal and prepared to leave. Though the fire was barely crackling with life, no one else appeared to be on the verge of turning in for the evening. He felt it was safe to leave. CJ and Toby were in battling moods; Josh and Donna would have little opportunity to fall into what Sam was beginning to think of as the Danger Zone--those periods of time when things might happen. There were more of those moments now that Amy Gardner was out of the picture for Josh. Not that Sam wanted her around either. She also distracted him, not the way he feared Donna might. After all, Amy was a speed bump in Josh's life, a long repressed urge from some college days longing. But Donna? Josh wouldn't dismiss her so readily if he had a clue what he felt for her, Sam feared. 

Confident they were adequately chaperoned, Sam ambled off to look for something to drink and his laptop to finish the remarks for Cincinnati. 

His confidence was not well-placed. Within minutes of his departure, CJ was paged. Her father had tried to reach her; she left the campfire quickly to call him back. Toby, not relishing any further communion with nature, bid his remaining companions good evening. He was in search of some smooth scotch to prepare him for Sam's first draft for Cincinnati. 

"You going to go too?" Donna asked, as Josh dumped the rest of CJ's water bottle on the flames then kicked dirt over them to complete the task. 

"Me?" he asked. "No. It's just too warm to be sitting by a fire. It's 75 degrees out here." 

"It's the humidity," Donna nodded. 

"Can I let you in on a little something?" Josh said. "It's not the humidity. It's the heat. When it's 20 degrees and humid, are you hot?" 

"Well no..." 

"It's the heat, Donna," Josh said as he sat down and looked skyward again. 

"Do you want to stay here alone?" 

"Alone?" 

"Yeah," she said hesitantly. "I could go if you wanted." 

"You can stay," he shrugged. 

"Okay," she said and sat beside him. "You did very well with answering Toby." 

"Is that why you stayed?" 

"No," she half-lied. "I mean, yeah. I mean, to tell you. Not to see if you were all right. You're all right, aren't you?" 

"I'm fine," he sighed and scuffed more dirt onto the smoldering remains of the fire as Donna yawned. "Are you tired?" 

"I haven't slept much in four years, this is not tired," she said then paused. "You never asked me." 

"I just did." 

"No, I mean about Rosslyn," Donna corrected him. "You've never asked if I was scared. I was. I was terrified." 

"Yeah?" 

"Uh huh," she said, feeling an inward shiver. "When I heard the news and when I got to the hospital.... All the news was reporting at first was that the President had been brought there. They never said anything about you; no one knew at first. So when I found out... I mean, if it had been any of them, Sam or Leo or anyone, I'd have been scared. But it was you and..." 

"Thanks," Josh said sheepishly, knowing there was a compliment hiding somewhere in her jumbled explanation. 

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

"I'm gonna walk back now," Josh said eventually. "You should probably come with me. Toby thinks there are bears, which means he probably saw a raccoon and... Well, I don't know." 

Donna nodded then joined him as they started, at an exceptionally slow pace, toward the lodges a quarter mile away. The moon played hide-and-seek behind some wispy clouds as they strolled peacefully in the calm, sultry darkness. 

"I would have said something nice," Donna told him after several moments of silence. 

"For my eulogy?" 

"Yeah," she nodded. "Something about how you treat strangers the way you treat the President, with respect and patience without thinking; the way you take a chance on people because... just because you are who you are. I don't know. Toby would probably have had better words but..." 

"They wouldn't mean as much to me," Josh said. "That was... very nice of you to think of saying that." 

Donna smiled and took a shaky breath. This was one of those moments that she fought so hard so often. She knew she needed to shift the subject before she said what she really felt and embarrassed herself and Josh in the process. 

"Do you really miss the stars?" Donna asked suddenly for lack of anything better. "That sounds too... I don't know, pedestrian for you. You don't strike me as a star gazing type." 

"I'm not," Josh admitted. "But my grandfather was. He would sit in the backyard and point out the patterns he could see and tell me about them and how they were the same there as they had been when he looked up at them from Birkenau. He thought they were the only pretty thing left in the universe. I wasn't much impressed by the stars. I always like the patterns in-between them." 

"In-between?" 

"Yeah, the dark spaces between the stars," Josh explained. "That's the thing everyone overlooks, but its the most important part. Without those overlooked spaces, there would be no patterns--nothing to look at." 

Donna looked at him as he gazed upward, into the darkness. After several moments, he could feel her stare. Without shifting his eyes to her, he spoke. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Sometimes, just sometimes, you surprise me," she said. 

"Paying back the favor," he said as he returned his gaze to ground level again as they began to walk back toward the lodges. 

"For what?" 

"For doing the kind of things most assistants wouldn't," he shrugged. "I appreciate it. I just... Your loyalty is exceptional. It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me." 

"You mean a lot to me, too." 

"If we screw this thing up.... I mean, if we lose...," he began. 

"We won't lose," Donna said encouragingly. "You guys will make it work somehow. I have faith in that." 

"Yeah, I know," he said with more confidence than he actually felt. "But if we lose, you'll always have a job where ever I am. After what you said earlier, I want you to know that this exact job might not be permanent, but your position with me is as far as I'm concerned. As long as you want to work with me, I'll see that you do. Okay?" 

"I wouldn't leave," she said firmly. 

"Even if you find something else?" 

"Like you'd ever give me the chance," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't have the time to find a date for a single evening; how would I ever find the time to look for another job?" 

"The guys you date are no good for you," Josh stated. 

"You tell me that every man I go out with is no good," Donna sighed. "I'm starting to think I'm destined to be an old maid." 

"Old maid?" 

"That means spinster," she elaborated. 

"I know what it is," he informed her. "I just wasn't aware people still used the arcane terminology. Donna, you don't give yourself enough credit. You're just so eager to find someone that you..." 

"Leap without looking?" she offered. 

"Yeah, I was going to try to avoid the cliché," he hesitated. "I just mean that you deserve someone who knows how special you are." 

Donna kept her eyes forward and said a quick prayer for the darkness that hid the blush burning in her cheeks. 

"Yeah, now just point him out to me," she said uncomfortably. 

"I wish I could be that guy for you, Donna," Josh said softly without thinking. 

"I'm sorry?" Donna asked, her head snapping to the side to look at him. 

"Uh, nothing," Josh said nervously. "I... uh.... I gotta check in with... uh...." 

"Leo," Donna offered. 

"Right," he nodded deftly. "Leo." 

***************** 

Sam sat in the spacious living area in the staff's lodge staring at his notepad. It had been 20 minutes since Toby instructed him to work on the President's upcoming Cincinnati speech and so far the only thing written on the pad was, "My Fellow Americans." 

It's not a bad start, he told himself for the eighth time. 

"But it's predictable," he said, predicting Toby's reaction. "And who else would he be addressing at union rally in Cincinnati? Canadians?"   


He stared at the four wadded up pieces of paper on the end table and sighed. Sam knew he was a proven author – the State of the Union was the prime example. But neither Cincinnati nor worker unions were on his mind at the moment. No, other unions, unsuccessful ones from the past and dangerous ones on the horizon, clouded his thoughts. He started scribbling when Josh wandered in from outside. 

"Hey," he said. "Have you seen Leo? " 

"You're not at the fire?" Sam asked. 

"No, I'm standing here asking you if you've seen Leo," Josh replied. 

"Right," Sam nodded. "You just missed him. He went to the Main Lodge. What's up?" 

"Uh, I need to see him about Hoynes," Josh said. "I had a thought." 

"About?" 

"Hoynes," Josh repeated. 

"Care to share?" 

"Can't," Josh said. 

His expression was unreadable, which Sam knew meant the answer lay in that impenetrable realm where Josh kept secrets for people. Hoynes was concerning the entire staff with his demands for changes to policy approach and campaign strategy. He was in a position of power and was having a difficult time recalling that he was the President's running mate not the candidate himself. 

"If I can do anything...," Sam offered. 

Josh nodded then turned to leave the room. But he paused and turned back. 

"Actually...," Josh began. "Are you doing anything?" 

"I'm working on the Cincinnati speech." 

"Is it important?" 

"A speech for the President of the United States? No." 

"Let me ask you something," Josh sat down opposite his friend, oblivious to Sam's remarks. 

Sam put his pen and pad on the table. "Sure." 

Josh paused before asking the question that had been in his mind for quite some time. "What do you think about Donna?" 

"She's a good assistant," Sam said as a knot started to build in his stomach. "Why?" 

"I don't know," he shrugged. 

"She's not your assistant?" 

"She is," he said quickly. "But maybe there's.... other things....." 

"Other things?" Sam asked, as the knot grew bigger. 

"We were talking and...." he sighed. 

"Josh" 

"Yeah?" 

Sam thought for a second carefully choosing his words. "What precisely are you getting at?" 

"Donna," Josh began. "She's.... She's a good assistant - better than most. Better than any, actually. She does a lot. Things that are not...." 

"Normally associated with the job description?" Sam finished. 

"Yeah." 

Sam sat erect in his chair and looked at his friend. It killed him to do this, but the campaign is far from over. He sighed. 

"I can answer that in three words," Sam informed him. "White Knight Syndrome. Josh, she looks up to you. You took her in at her lowest possible moment. And then when she left and returned, you took her back--no questions asked. You helped her out; you've got connections. There was the whole thing about her being accidentally Canadian. She feels like she... Well, like she owes you." 

Josh sat back in the chair. "That's it? You don't think it could be anything else?" 

"No," he responded. "What else could it be?" 

"Nothing," Josh waved it off.. "Just… People ask me about her sometimes. Her and I actually." 

"Well, the hours you work her and the places you take her, it's no wonder people talk," Sam said plainly. "They still talk about you and Amy and that's nothing. " 

"Don't remind me," Josh groaned. 

"She's gonna be at the convention," Sam pointed out. 

"Amy?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's natural," Josh reasoned. "She supports us." 

"She hates you," Sam continued. 

"That's natural, too." 

"So, you're okay with it?" Sam asked. 

"I have a choice?" Josh countered. 

"Not really." 

"So the Donna thing," Josh said, wanting to get back to the topic at hand. 

"There is no thing," Sam reiterated. "She's just Donna--your assistant. That's all." 

"Yeah," Josh nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

"Yeah. It's just work." 

"Right," Josh agreed. "It's important work. I couldn't live without her.... I mean, as far as work goes. Which is why it's so strange that people might start to think it was something other than work... " 

"Men and women work together all the time, and it doesn't mean anything," Sam explained. "For instance, nobody thinks Ginger has a thing for Toby." 

"Ginger does have a thing for Toby," Josh corrected. 

"She does?" Sam asked perplexed. 

"Donna said so." 

"Ginger told her?" 

"Carol did." 

Sam looked dumbfounded. "I didn't know that." 

"So you said," he smirked. 

"Well, it doesn't mean anything," Sam continued. "For you and Donna. I mean, there is no you and Donna, right?" 

"You're asking me?" Josh questioned. 

Sam's brows furrowed as several thoughts – none of them good – rolled through his mind. "There isn't, right?" 

"No," Josh assured him. "Absolutely not." 

Sam relaxed at sat back in the chair. "Good." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I mean, it's good that you both know there's nothing there," Sam said as his eyes darted around the room. "Look, can I make a suggestion?" 

"Sure," Josh shrugged. 

"Maybe if you don't work her as much. Give her some free time to have a life. Then... then people will stop talking, and it'll be fine." 

"Okay," Josh conceded. "Yeah. I... Yeah. Okay, I'll let you get back to... whatever." 

"The speech for your boss," Sam reminded him as he picked up his pad and pen. 

"Yeah, that." 

"Okay." 

Josh rose from the chair and headed upstairs towards the door again. He turned and walked back to Sam again. 

"See, the thing is," Josh started again. "I sort of wondered if maybe.... I mean, there are times when she and I.... " 

"White Knight Syndrome, remember?" Sam said, not looking up from his pad. 

"Right," Josh concurred. "But that doesn't explain why I...." 

Sam let out a quiet sigh. This wasn't going to be easy, and he had to put an end to it. 

"She's an attractive woman, Josh," Sam said plainly. "It's human for any man to entertain those thoughts. I mean... I... I do... sometimes." 

"You look at Donna?" Josh asked, taking a few steps closer. "What are you looking at her for?" 

"Who doesn't?" Sam said nonchalantly. "She's very attractive, Josh." 

"I know that," he said quickly 

"It doesn't mean that I'll pursue anything," Sam assured him. "We work together; just like you and she. There's nothing between us." 

"Oh, right," Josh relaxed. "See, that's part of the thing." 

"The thing that isn't a thing?" 

"Yeah," Josh nodded and placed his hands on the back of the chair. "I just started wondering. I always tell her that the guys she dates are no good. And they are. They really are. So she said something to me like who would be good for her and I.... The idea popped into my head that maybe..." 

"You're her boss," Sam reminded the Deputy. 

"Yeah." 

"You're her boss." 

"You said that," Josh pointed out. 

"It was worth saying again," Sam declared. 

"It's not illegal," Josh argued. "Perhaps, to some, it might have the halo of unethical, but if you know us you'd know that it's not like that." 

"I know that," Sam accepted, "but not everyone would see it that way. And, like you said, there's nothing between you. Just work." 

"She's just...." Josh shook his head, "she's not like anyone I've ever met, Sam." 

"Donna is quite a character," Sam smiled. 

"She's not a cartoon," Josh snapped. 

"I wasn't insulting her," Sam informed him. 

"I know." 

"You care about her," Sam observed. 

"Of course I do," Josh admitted. 

"So do I," Sam replied. "We've all gotten close through these jobs we do. We can't imagine working without each other. We've had a few scares were that almost happened and it brought us all closer. So, what you feel is normal. I think maybe it just feels different now because..." 

Josh walked around the chair and returned to his seat. "Because what?" 

"Because we might not win," Sam indicated. "You know it as well as I do. This thing is going to be close. Ritchie... They like him. A lot. If he.... Well, everything might change and the countdown begins in two weeks in Miami. All you're feeling is what we're all feeling. You don't want to lose any of what we have right now." 

"I suppose," he shrugged. "I told her if we don't, you know, win in November, that I want her to stay with me... for work. A huge part of that is because she is so good at what she does; I trust her. But there's another part, Sam. I think I.... I want her around." 

"Josh, if you're Donna's White Knight, then she is your Florence Nightingale," Sam sighed. "She took care of you. You needed someone, and she was there. So, you both have taken care of each other. You need to look at things this way: You're not even with each other. No one owes the other anything. The two of you are free to pursue other things, other people. No obligations; you're not tied to each other for eternity." 

Josh sat there in silence for a few minutes. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't be all that horrible if I was. I think about it, or, you know, I have... once or twice. Her and me, that is." 

"It's not real, Josh," Sam lied. 

"It's not?" 

"All guys think of that," Sam waved it off. "It's just you being a guy." 

"Being a guy?" he smirked. "What the hell have I been previously?" 

"A politician masquerading as a regular man," Sam said matter-of-factly. 

"Meaning?" 

"Your life has never been as complicated as it has been since you joined the Bartlet campaign," Sam said. "You know there's a chance it might suddenly get a hell of a lot simpler. This whole thing... It's just your head playing tricks on you." 

"Yeah, 'cause that's precisely what I need," Josh sighed as he rubbed his hand over his face. 

"Seriously, Josh," Sam said. "It's nothing. Just a little blip on your radar. I wouldn't worry about it." 

"No?" 

"No," Sam scoffed. "She's a good assistant." 

"You think this is funny?" Josh asked, the tone in his voice conveying seriousness instead of anger. 

"Come on, Josh," Sam smiled. "It... it would be like Toby asking Ginger... Uh, no, like Leo asking Margaret out." 

"I'd rather he did," Josh answered. "It would keep him away from my mother." 

"Your mom's a ticket," Sam offered. 

"Okay, you really don't need to say things like that." 

"I've seen the pictures," Sam grinned, pleased to switch gears. "She was a hottie when she was younger. She's still got it going on." 

"And I'd really prefer it if you didn't even think that," Josh said through clenched teeth. "I remind you that she's old enough to be your mother." 

"She's a beautiful, feisty woman," Sam needled. 

Josh stood. "Enough." 

"She's coming to Miami?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, why? You want a date?" 

"I think she's out of my league." 

"She is," Josh stated. "She's also married." 

"Josh." 

"I know" Josh said. "But she's still married." 

"Right," Sam said picking the pen up again. "So, I'm gonna write this speech now." 

"Okay. Cincinnati?" 

"Yeah." 

"It's in Ohio," Josh said. 

"I should write that down," Sam intoned. 

"Ohio is important," Josh said solemnly. 

"I know." 

"We're gonna loose it to Ritchie," Josh confessed. 

"So you're saying the first draft here should be good enough," Sam answered. 

"I'm leaving now." 

"Take it easy and don't think about... all those things," Sam reassured him. "It's wasted time." 

"Yeah?" Josh said. "Okay. Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it. Could we, you know.... Pretend we never had this discussion? I mean, I don't need CJ saying..." 

"What discussion, Josh?" CJ said entering the room. 

"I gotta go see Leo now," Josh said as he started to leave the room. 

"He thinks your mom's a babe," Sam smiled as Josh left the room groaning. 

"How is the fourth draft going?" CJ asked the speech writer as she plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace. 

Sam put his pad down – again. He admitted defeat to himself. As long as the living room was substituting for Grand Central Station, he would not be working in the speech. 

"Uh, it's... good." 

"So you haven't written anything?" She concluded. 

"No, not as such, no I have not." 

CJ rolled her eyes. "Why do we pay you again? What's the problem?" 

Sam rose and made his way over to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He returned to his seat and poured the scotch into the glasses and offered CJ hers; Sam quickly downed his and poured another. 

"I have other things on my mind," Sam confessed. 

"Other things?" she asked. "Such as slipping into a drunken coma?" 

"I'll have it done before we leave for the convention," he proclaimed and downed the second drink. 

"I know you will because Toby will beat it out of you if he has to," she informed him. "But I think it would go much smoother if you could just do it on your own." 

"CJ, could you just...," he snapped. "It'll be done." 

"Let's go outside," CJ said, rising from her seat 

"I'd prefer to stay here." 

"Is this about the convention?" she asked sitting back down. "Toby said your mom isn't coming. Is your father? Are things... I thought things were better with that, are they?" 

"What?" he asked looking at her. "Things are.. .things are fine." 

"Good," she sighed. "Because we don't need any family matters at the convention. The reason the President asked us to invite some immediate family is so he can thank them for all their sacrifices and support." 

"Sacrifices," he scoffed, pouring another round. "Sure, that's what it is." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"If he had just... if he looked at her the way that..." 

"Who?" she asked, carefully sliding the bottle away. "What are you talking about? Sam? Are you still with me?" 

"Ruined one relationship because he just couldn't…" he muttered. 

"Who?" 

"Why can't he look at her that way?" he asked, downing his glass, then CJ's. 

CJ leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee. "Sam? Come back to reality." 

"Reality?" he rambled. "Yeah, that's what it is. And truth! Oh, who cares about that? Reality is that the truth doesn't matter; you have to make sacrifices." 

"Sacrifices? Is this part of the President's speech?" 

"Twenty-eight years he lived there, and every day was some lie--and he knew it! He did it willfully. And then...." 

"Sam..." CJ began. 

"CJ, a man sat across from me and told me that he loves a woman who loves him back," Sam said boldly. "Only, here's the thing, he doesn't have any clue he said it. That's honesty. That's truth. And the reality is, he'll never, never tell her because he was told it was a lie." 

"What are you talking about?" she asked. 

"How do we stand up and say trust us, when we can't even be honest with each other?" Sam asked as round four was poured. "When we sacrifice each others happiness for some nebulous good that might never come about because there are so many other factors involved? Isn't the American Dream more than just making money? Isn't it about happiness? Finding that which makes us supremely and sublimely happy and passing it on to posterity... To say, I did this. Look, it can happen." 

"So, what did you tell the guy?" CJ said, grabbing her glass before Sam could. 

"I told him what I had to tell him," he said truthfully. 

"Fine," she conceded. "Take a break with the speech, Sam. Go to bed." 

"I never thought I was like him," he divulged, picking up his glass. 

"Like who?" 

"My father." 

"Are you?" 

"I sat there with someone who trusted me and I lied," he choked, slamming the glass down. "It was willful; it was calculated; it was..." 

"Forgivable?" 

"I'm just like my father," Sam said lowly. "I did what I thought I was entitled to do." 

"Sam, if you don't want your father to come, then call him," CJ said plainly. 

"It's not him. It's me." Sam stood and wobbled out of the room. 

CJ watched as Sam left. 

_ Something happened_, she decided. She knew she needed to find out. 

***************** 

Sam looked at the stairs leading to the upper level where his room was located. He shook his head. He couldn't go to sleep. With sleep would come dreams and he didn't care to face whatever his mind would churn up tonight. He turned instead to the left and struck out of the porch. 

Outside, the night air was smooth and calm, yet it made him dizzy. He stumbled as he descended the steps to the ground. He thought a walk might clear his head. He was a little disoriented, though. He wasn't sure which way to the path that lead to the clearing where they had built the fire that evening. 

"Hey Sam," Charlie's voice called to him from very near. "Are you all right?" 

"Charlie?" Sam asked, searching. 

"Behind you," Charlie replied, tapping him on the shoulder. 

Sam turned around in a clumsy fashion and stumbled to keep his balance. 

"Whoa," Charlie sounded as he grabbed Sam's elbow to steady him. "Okay, Sam, I think you should be in bed. There are some press people here this weekend. Maybe we should get you inside." 

Sam scoffed at the idea and shook his head but did not protest further. Charlie guided him slowly across the sweeping lawn that lead back to the lodge where most of the senior staff was staying. 

"Do you know what I am?" Sam asked. 

"Pretty drunk, I'd guess," Charlie offered. 

"I mean, do you know how vile I am?" Sam continued. "Let me tell you, pretty damn vile. I write pretty phrases; I really can, which is surprising, considering how vile I am. Did I tell you that I'm vile?" 

"You might have mentioned it," Charlie offered. "But I don't believe it, Sam." 

"But I am," he insisted. "I'm a vile, wretched, conniving, hatchman. That makes me a hack. Hack, hack, hack! That's what I did. Yes, it is. I ruined it. And it was easy. Easy as.... as ruining something." 

"Is that so?" Charlie continued, steering Sam towards the steps. 

"I am Janus," Sam proclaimed as he stopped at the stairs. "A two-faced god. Only I'm not a god. I just played one, and not even on TV. Just in a place. There is a script, though. There is. I know, 'cause I'm writing it. Tinkering, that's what I'm doing. Tinkering with.... I just... I feel evil and awful, and I should because I am. All of those things." 

"I don't think that, Sam," Charlie soothed and nudged him up the first step. 

"Do you know what I did?" Sam asked painfully. "No, only I know. I ruined a chance for happiness. Maybe not eternal happiness, but we'll never know because I have a fear that it just might have been. See, 'cause I say things and people listen. I change the world with my words and I did it. I certainly did. Because these things are delicate. I know that and I didn't care. Only, I did. I really did, Charlie. But the work is more important. It's the future, you see. Our future. And that was going well until... well, the whole thing from last year. I had to do something. I couldn't fix it, but I could do this." 

"Do what?" Charlie asked casually as he opened the door to the lodge. 

"I lied," Sam replied simply. "I said it was nothing. But it is. I can see it. I know it. It's a thing; maybe the real thing." 

Charlie ushered Sam through the hallway and toward another flight of stairs. Sam was content to accept the direction, so long as he was allowed to continue his self evaluation unhindered. Charlie let him continue, not sure what he was talking about or why. 

"Maybe she didn't believe you," Charlie said, hoping to offer some solace. 

"Her who?" 

"The woman," Charlie answered. "Who ever you told you didn't care. Maybe she didn't believe you." 

"It's not a woman," Sam said. "It's Josh." 

"I'm sorry," Charlie blurted out, stopping in his tracks. "Sam, I don't think that Josh is...." 

"It's not me," Sam cut him off with a sloppy wave. "I told Josh that she doesn't care about him. He's not really... He can't figure these things out--never could. He's no good at this kind of thing, which is why I knew I had to stop it." 

"You told Josh that someone doesn't care about him?" Charlie surmised. "Sam, what is this about?" 

"Winning," Sam said, as they reached the top of the stairs. "The goal of all that we do. She loves him and that's too much for us to carry. He can't have that because... Because.... Well, it would go wrong and his head wouldn't be where it needs to be and we can't have anyone not doing everything they can. So I stepped in. We were fine so long as he didn't think he cared. Not like that anyway. 'Cause he's clueless, Charlie. If he stayed that way.... But he didn't. After Amy, he started thinking too much and he came up with this. He cares about her and he thinks about her. And he does it so much that he told me. That told me a lot; he doesn't.... Josh keeps things to himself. So when he asked me.... I knew it had to be done." 

"Sam?" 

"I like Donna, but we can't let this..." 

"Josh and Donna?" Charlie asked, putting the fragments of Sam's ramblings together as he escorted Sam into his room. "Josh told you he has feelings for Donna?" 

"Yeah." 

"And you told him...." 

"I convinced him that he didn't," Sam said as he dropped onto his bed. "And that she didn't care for him. Convinced him it was... a form of codependency, a mental infirmity; a figment of his imagination. And he bought it. She'll never know and he'll never tell her because he doesn't think he cares. So there it ends. It's over because I made sure of it." 

Charlie stared at him, not sure what to believe or what to say. After a moment, he found his voice. 

"He's your friend," Charlie said. "Why would you..." 

"Because I can," Sam replied, his words seeped with guilt. "You don't understand." 

"I think I do," Charlie said thoughtfully. "That really is despicable, Sam." 

Charlie exited the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He descended the stairs, his mind filled with the confession. He wasn't sure what he should do, if anything. It wasn't his place to play matchmaker or to fix Sam's deceit. Nor was it in his nature to betray a confidence--and Sam had spoken to him in a compromised state. With these mixed thoughts and emotions, Charlie left the lodge. As he did, Toby approached from the President's lodge. 

"Have you seen Sam?" Toby asked. "He's supposed to have the Cincinnati draft done for me." 

"He's gone to bed," Charlie replied. "He.... He's not in any shape to be writing for the President right now, Toby." 

"CJ told me," Toby announced. "I think Leo's right. We are going to kill each other. I vote for Sam to go first." 

"I might second that," Charlie said softly then more loudly. "Toby, is Josh with the President?" 

"He and Leo, yeah," the speech writer replied. 

"Did he seem.... okay?" 

"Okay?" Toby repeated. "Okay for Josh? I don't know what that is.. Why? What's going on?" 

"Nothing," Charlie said, dismissing the thoughts. "I just didn't know if anything was bothering him." 

"Yeah, the Vice President's speech for the convention and the polling numbers out of Illinois and Ohio," Toby offered. "Charlie? Does Sam think something's bothering Josh?" 

"I think so," Charlie said. "It's not my place, Toby." 

Toby sighed and stepped closer to Charlie. He lowered his voice and put on his most sage expression. 

"Look, I know you're privy to a lot of things that the rest of us... aren't," Toby began. "And from that, you develop confidences and I would never ask you to break them. I know your integrity and trustworthiness is of tantamount importance to you doing your job. But I also know that I can count on your honesty and your genuine caring for friends and colleagues." 

"Thank you," Charlie said gratefully. 

"I tell you this because if there is something going on that I should know about, now is a good time to tell me," Toby suggested. "I'm between crisises right now and I could use a fix." 

"It's nothing, Toby," Charlie lied unconvincingly. 

"Charlie," Toby warned. "The convention is in two weeks. It's big. Bigger than... anything. You've never been through one before so I can't stress the importance of the team effort needed to pull off something of the magnitude. The eyes of the world, Charlie. We will have nothing short of the eyes of the world on us--and only us--during that week. So if there is anything, any little thing, going on that could distract that attention, I need to know. Now, you asked about Josh. I know this is not something we all ever talk about but... Josh does have..." 

"It's not like that," Charlie said quickly. "At least, I don't think so." 

"Charlie, if he's got something going on, I need to know," Toby persuaded. "I need to know for two very important reasons. One, the convention, whose importance I recently mentioned. The other, and if you repeat this I will deny it, is that he is my friend. Both of those mean the same thing right now: Josh's well-being is the well-being of the campaign. So, tell me, is there anything I need to know?" 

"I don't think so," Charlie replied, setting Toby at ease as he started to walk away. "All I know is, that should the chance ever arise, I wouldn't ask Sam to play Cupid." 

"Cupid?" Toby questioned, watching Charlie depart. "Well, it rhymes with stupid and that is a trait I would assign to Sam some days. Wait!" 

Charlie stopped in his tracks and turned around. 

"Sam can't play Cupid?" Toby repeated and cast a disapproving stare at the lodge before asking Charlie one final question. "Is about Donna?"   
  
  
  


**Up next:**   
**Conventional Wisdom**

  



	20. Conventional Wisdom

**Title**: **THE QUEST** (Chapter 20): **_Conventional Wisdom_**   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Webpage**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com   


It was the early afternoon on the last whole day the President and his staff were to spend at Camp David. The convention was approaching swiftly. The stress of the campaign beginning in earnest was yet another thing to keep the President teetering between peaceful slumber and insomnia recently. 

The First Lady had not joined him on this trip--thus making the hours spent at the retreat his dislike of the retreat even more arduous. His Chief of Staff insisted he stay and the senior staff remained there as well for the weekend. It wasn't much of a getaway with half of the minds that ran the country breezing into the President's office to briefing him. It seemed a most inefficient way to run the country and a horrible way to take a vacation he neither needed nor wanted. 

"What the hell is this, Leo?" the President bellowed as he slapped a copy of the day's Washington Post on the desk in his office at Camp David as Leo entered the room. 

"It's nothing," Leo said with a firm shake of his head. "It's Gamsby being Gamsby. He and Brentwood were..." 

"Taking me out for a little casual beating," Bartlet cut him off. "Can't your Deputy get anything right?" 

"Sir," Leo said calmly, "we talked about this. This is one..." 

"It's an OpEd piece in the Washington Post shredding my record on education," Bartlet seethed. "You sent Josh to Brentwood's office to smooth things over after he was asked to...." 

"Mr. President," Leo shook his head, "it's not like it's the first time you've been accused of working for the teacher's union rather than students. This is nothing to worry about. It's a political tactic." 

"You don't say," Bartlet scoffed. "Was that scintillating assessment arrived at by your Deputy, or are you quoting a seventh grader's civics paper? Honestly, Leo. I don't know what his problem is, but it seems to me that your deputy's recent incompetence might just be long-overlooked ineptitude." 

"Sir," Leo said firmly. "You yourself told me that talking to Brentwood would make the guy mad, but that we had to do it. You knew it would result in a little thing like this editorial." 

"Little thing?" Bartlet raised his voice. "You call this little?" 

"In the grand scheme, yeah," Leo said. 

"Fine," the President scowled as he pulled a briefing memo from his folder. "What is this about NAFTA?" 

"I'd like you to sit with Toby and Josh on that," Leo said. "It might be a thing." 

"If Josh is part of it, I have no doubt," Bartlet replied as he spied Leo's questioning look. "Don't defend him to me, Leo. He can do it himself. Rumor has it he went to law school--though recent actions of his leave me wondering if he actually made it out of high school successfully." 

Leo said nothing. There was no use having this debate. The President's mood was combative and any discussion on the subject of Josh would be counter-productive. Leo was dismissed and the President called to his personal aide. 

"Yes, sir," Charlie appeared in the doorway. 

"Where is Toby?" 

"He's with the rest of the senior staff," Charlie said. "They're in the west meadow having a lunch meeting, I think." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, I just spoke with Donna and Ginger; they were leaving to go back to Washington, and they said that's where everyone was," Charlie informed his boss. 

"Okay, then let's go," Bartlet said in a jauntier mood. "I need to see Toby." 

"We could call them back here, sir," Charlie offered. 

"Nice day for a walk," Bartlet shaking his head. 

"All right," Charlie said with a stifled sigh. 

"Something you want to add?" 

"No, sir," Charlie said. "It's just... Well, sir, if you don't mind my saying, you don't seem to have a good rapport with everyone lately. I would think that a little time and space is what everyone needs." 

Bartlet looked at his aide and bit back a comment. He wasn't angry with Charlie. He didn't agree with his aide's assessment, but that didn't merit a sharp comment. Though the President didn't feel he needed to justify his urge to take a walk, he did feel a certain need to clarify his aide's perception of recent events. 

"If I seem displeased with certain individuals, that's only because I am displeased with certain individuals," Bartlet explained as he rose from his chair and headed out of the office. "I'm being scoured in the press; they're painting me as being anti-education. Me. The man who Governor Robert Ritchie, calls an over-educated, intellectual elitist. How I can be both baffles me, but somehow a member of my staff has managed to let that perception get printed in the Washington Post. That's a considerable talent." 

"But Mr. President," Charlie said cautiously, "it's my understanding that it was a Senator who arruanged that." 

"As retaliation for the brusqueness of one of our own," Bartlet said, picking up the pace as he left the lodge with his Secret Service detail circling him. "I don't care what Leo's theories are about necessity." 

"To do a great right, do a little wrong," Charlie offered. 

The comment stopped Bartlet in his tracks. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I read that someplace recently," Charlie replied. "I can't remember where." 

"It's Shakespeare," Bartlet informed him. 

"Well, I haven't read any plays recently," Charlie said. "It wasn't at the production in New York, was it?" 

"No," Bartlet said distantly, the words seeping into his mind and churning with others. "It's from _The Merchant of Venice_ ." 

Bartlet pondered the statement. There was something to it. It was not that he agreed morally with the concept. A little wrong was still a wrong and that wouldn't change. But pragmatically, there was merit. It was a question unresolved by the ages. How much of a wrong was acceptable--if any--if the right it eventually generated benefited many. He was about to pose the rhetorical question to Charlie, when his aide's memory sharpened. 

"It was Mr. Lyman," Charlie said suddenly. "I mean, Josh's father. That's where I read it. It was in those newspaper clippings and magazine articles you wanted to see--the ones that were complied about the staff for the convention press packages. It was part something a reporter quoted Mr. Lyman as saying about Josh. I remember it because he sounded like... I don't know, someone who really loved his son, you know. You just knew from that article that his father even was proud of Josh's mistakes." 

"Right," Bartlet scowled with coldness in his eyes that he focused on the ground as he stalked off to his destination. 

****************

The staff sat at a picnic table adjacent to a stone fireplace where Sam was stoking the dying embers. They were finishing a lunch meeting at which he had displayed his culinary talents by cooking hamburger over open flame. Toby, while nervously scanning the trees to the east, offered to pick up an application at Burger King for his deputy should the election go south on them. 

"Did we ever get an answer on whether or not there are there bears here?" the Communication's Director asked seeing leaves rustle in the distance. 

"I think the Secret Service's has finished vetting most of them," CJ said rolling her eyes. 

"They put one in a headlock and gave the others visitor's passes," Sam said emptying his water bottle over the coals, producing a wave of steam. 

The hiss of the steam shrieked in his ears but he was glad his self-imposed headache was subsiding. He didn't recall much of the end of the previous evening, but as everyone seemed to be speaking to him, Sam determined he had done no damage in his compromised state. 

"Toby, how can you be scared of Camp David?" Josh asked. "You grew up in Brooklyn." 

"In Brooklyn, there were noises," Toby argued. "Gunfire, screaming. This... this is too quiet." 

"Quiet unnerves you?" CJ ventured. "So, what you're saying is that like having Josh around." 

"I'm saying no such thing," Toby sneered. "Did you hear me say that? No. Josh is... Josh is annoying." 

"That's true," Sam nodded. 

"Hey!" 

"I was gonna say that's true, BUT..." Sam back peddled. 

"Aren't we the testy outdoors man?" CJ chided Josh with a laugh. 

"Who tripped over a gopher and nearly broke her neck then yelled at me for it?" he retorted. 

"It was a gopher hole and I nearly broke my ankle," CJ countered. 

"And let me say, you were quite graceful when doing it," Sam said. "Like a giraffe doing ballet on a patch of ice." 

"Who screamed like a little girl over a fallen branch, claiming it was a snake?" CJ said, turning her sights on Sam and raising her voice to aggravate the hangover he was nursing. 

"You scream like a girl by the way," Toby offered to his deputy. 

"I do not," Sam protested. "I do NOT scream like a girl." 

"If your pitch got any higher, only dogs would have heard you," Josh said. 

"Who the hell cares about Sam's girlie voice," Toby said tersely as he spotted more movement in the tree line. "Tell me again why we're all sitting out here in the elements instead of back at the lodge?" 

"In the elements?" Josh questioned. 

"Air is an element," Toby replied tersely. 

"We're here because we wanted to be outside," Sam explained. "And because CJ wanted a barbecue. They won't let us light a fire in the lodge." 

"Some places are picky about that kind of thing," Josh offered. 

"Thank you, Yogi and Boo-Boo," Toby growled. 

Sam turned instantly to Josh. 

"You're Boo-Boo." 

"I am not," Josh disagreed. 

"You know, when it comes to outdoors kind of things, most people actually are not smarter than the average bear," Sam continued. 

CJ buried her face in her hands as she stopped Sam's lecture and scolded Toby. 

"Oh god," she groaned. "Toby, you just had to start him, didn't you? It's bad enough I had to listen to the President complaining about Camp David again this morning. Now, the boy scout is going to educate me on bears of the Appalachians. He's like some mentally deranged wind up toy." 

"You mean Sam and not the President there, right?" Josh asked. 

"Josh started it," Sam said quickly. 

"You're a stupid cartoon bear," CJ said to the speech writer. 

"And Josh is my sidekick," Sam said helpfully. "I always wanted a sidekick." 

"Where's intelligent conversation when I need it most?" CJ sighed. 

"That would be my cue to step in," Bartlet said stepping from the obscurity of the canopied trail leading to the main lodge area as the staff stood. "No, no, stay seated. Don't let me interrupted this fascinating discussion. No doubt it is of vital importance to re-election. After all, that's what Leo told me you were doing here, ironing out the final big wrinkles in the convention plans." 

"Uh, certainly Mr. President," CJ said. "I was... That is, we were, absolutely doing that." 

"And helping Toby get over his fear of bears," Josh offered. 

The President's already furrowed brow grew more taut as the line of his lips pinched tightly. He narrowed his displeased gaze in Josh's direction. 

"Could we perhaps have one meeting without the sarcasm?" Bartlet leveled Josh. "I'd hate to tax your abilities, but seeing as you allegedly work for me..." 

"Yes, sir," Josh replied mildly. 

"I say allegedly because it seems that you work against me more often that not recently," Bartlet continued with an acid tone. 

"Sir?" 

"The Post, Josh," Bartlet snapped. "Have you seen the Washington Post today?" 

"Sir, if this is about..." 

"That's not a yes or a no, so I'm guessing your answer is no," Bartlet said. "Well, if you can find time in-between heckling CJ and acting like a sophomore in study hall with Sam, you might want to check out the editorial about my stance on education. Apparently, your meeting with Brentwood on Friday was exceptionally awful. A new level of disasterous--even for you." 

"Mr. President," Josh began calmly. "Leo and I both think that the..." 

"Don't hide behind Leo," Bartlet cut him off. "It's your screw up--again. I gotta hand it to you, just when I think we've made all the stupid little mistakes there are to make, you find a litany of new ones." 

"Mr. President," Sam said. "Senator Brentwood is...." 

"I know what he is," Bartlet said. "He is a thorn in my side, and Josh can't see fit to not to aggravate him. It's quite a talent you have, Josh. But that's not why I'm here. Toby, talk to me about the proposed changes to the NAFTA parameters." 

Toby looked at Josh. Both were heading up the White House's support for the bill expected to cause a ruckus in committee over the summer. That Josh was being dismissed by the President meant nothing in and of itself, but Toby knew the President's tone. He was on the receiving end of it often enough himself. The difference was, Toby knew, the President only used it with him when they were alone. With Josh, the President didn't seem to care who heard the seeming disrespect. 

With a nod and a quick step, Toby joined the President on his way back to the main lodge. Josh watched them depart and sighed. He could feel both Sam and CJ's questioning glances. Josh said nothing. 

*****************

The weekend ended and the days that followed leading up to the convention were taken at a breakneck pace by the staff. The latest polls put the President neck and neck with his Republican opponent. The convention would give them a momentary edge--as much as a 15 point bounce in their numbers--if it went off without a hitch. Scrambling to make it so was the order of the day. 

Most of the staff arrived in advance of the President: First Josh and Toby. Sam followed a day later with the assistants. CJ trailed soon after; as arranged during the primaries, the immediate family members of much of the senior staff was slated to arrive the day before the President. The President wanted to thank them for their contributions to his administration in the form of their patience and willingness to endure the trials of caring and for and dealing with his closest advisors. A formal dinner with the President was scheduled for the evening he was due to arrive at the convention--the night before he was to give his acceptance speech. 

With the greatest tasks finished and nothing left but the stage managing--most of which would be done by the DNC heads--the staff attempting to take what time it could before the President's arrival to reacquaint themselves with family or their sanity (which ever was willing to take them back). 

Unsure of his outcomes in that category, Josh went to the airport. 

"Baggage for flight 1588 from Palm Beach can be retrieved from the baggage return near Gate 9A," the bored voice over the intercom announced as he hurried through the terminal. 

Josh looked at his watch as he quickened his step. The plane had landed 20 minutes early, and he had been stuck in traffic. His discussion with Leo that morning had gone fine, but the phone conversation with the President.... 

He shook his head and put the thoughts in the back of his mind. The conversation was terse, but there was no outward disagreement, no scolding, no... He wouldn't use the word insult. Josh knew the President had many things besides the convention on his mind. The acceptance speech would be given in two days time and other than a strange message from Chris Lambert, a reporter from the LA Times, things were going well. That the President wasn't happy with Josh yet again was not something Josh was willing to over-analyze. 

It wasn't like Josh couldn't deal with difficult people; he could, and he didn't precisely mind it, but revisiting the cold aspect of the President's personality was not something he relished. The early days of the first campaign had been a chore, but he knew the man now. He respected him, but... _No_, Josh told himself, _no buts_ . Only thing to do was to not take the current situation personally and get his job done the best way he knew how. 

And his job at that moment was to find a passenger in the sea of people flooding the airport. If he messed up picking her up at the airport, that would be something he would not hear the end of and it would most certainly be personal. Thankfully, he spotted her, half way down the terminal, pulling her carry on bag behind her glancing about her in search of her escort. 

Josh caught up with her quickly, forgetting most of his awful morning because she would certainly read into his expression if he didn't. 

"Joshua," she gasped, as if surprised to see him as he touched her on the elbow. 

"You thought I'd forget you or be too busy to pick you up," he said smugly. 

"I did no such thing," she replied, but the look on her face said otherwise. "Well?" 

"Well what?" 

"I raised you better than that," Anna Lyman declared. "Offer to carry my bag and kiss your mother--and not in that order." 

Anna looked at her son. She never liked how tired he looked during these campaigns. But there was more than fatigue she saw in his eyes, as they embraced. 

_ Oh Joshua, what are you hiding from me now, _ she wondered with a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

*****************

"Mr. President, you had a call at the residence," Charlie said upon entering the Oval Office. 

It was nearly 11:30 and the President's Personal Aide was hoping to go home soon so he could pack for his trip with the President the next day. This was to be Charlie's first national convention and, despite all the amazing things he had seen and done since starting to work for the President, the convention was something he was oddly eager to see. It's not that the political intrigue was great--it wasn't: Everyone knew the President had the nomination. It's not that there were to be famous people around: There would be, but Charlie didn't think you could get more famous than the man for whom he worked. 

It was the electricity in the eyes of the senior staff when they talked about the convention that intrigued Charlie the most. They were some of the smartest and most dedicated people he had ever known. Anything that gave them a charge had to be worth seeing in person. 

"Who is it?" the President asked without looking up from the papers on his desk. 

"A Mr. Stanley from San Francisco," Charlie said. "Mrs. Bartlet forwarded the call. She said you'd want to take it." 

"Mr. Stanley?" the President paused then nodded. "Ah, yes. All right then. Charlie, I think we're done. I'm going to take this then call it a night. What's first tomorrow?" 

"Security briefing and then Mr. McGarry," Charlie said from memory. "The Vice President will be here at 10 before he leaves for the convention." 

"Right," Bartlet said moving toward the phone. "Line two?" 

"Yes, sir," Charlie said as he left. "Good night, Mr. President." 

Bartlet nodded to him and took a deep breath before taking the call. 

"_Mr_. Stanley?" Bartlet said as a greeting. 

"That was your wife's idea, Mr. President," Dr. Stanley Keyworth said. 

"I'll bet," Bartlet replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?" 

"I take no pleasure in this conversation," Stanley said. "Sir, my office was broken into." 

"I retired from my detective work year ago," Bartlet said. 

"I wanted to let you know," Stanley said. "A few of my patient files were rifled through. It doesn't appear anything is missing, but someone might have gotten a look at a few of them and my other records." 

"I see," Bartlet said with eerie calm. "And you identify people with their names in the files and you keep them sitting in a desk drawer for anyone who wants to waltz in to read?" 

The traumatologist laughed in spite of the dig. He did not fear letting the President know this news. In fact, of all his patients, Jed Bartlet was the one who Dr. Keyworth dreaded telling the least. It was interesting that he was also the man for whom disclosure could do the most damage. 

"No," Stanley said. "There are no patients named in my files. They are identified by numbers only. I am calling as a courtesy so that you know. In fact, there were no files of any personal concern to you in my office." 

"Okay then," Bartlet said, unsure why he was called. "Listen, Stanley, why--assuming I should--would I care about any of this?" 

"I didn't know if you needed any heads up for political reasons I couldn't possibly fathom," Stanley said. 

"I couldn't fathom any either," Bartlet said. "That's what I pay the staff for." 

"I've heard," Stanley said, cautious not to say too much. 

The doctor's call prior to the one to the White House had been to another Washington player--one who's files were compromised. The reaction on that end had been much different from the President's and had prompted this call--not because Stanley thought he should make it--but because the other man thought so. 

"Was there anything else?" Bartlet asked. 

"No, sir," Stanley said. "I will be in Baltimore in three days though, if you wanted to reschedule dinner. I know we had to cancel last time because of conflicts." 

_Conflicts_, Bartlet chuckled: An American student being held in Liberia, accused of treason. The all-night session at the White House with State Department officials and a clandestine call to the Canadian ambassador to play messenger had canceled Bartlet's last appointment. Not that Bartlet felt the sessions were doing much for him, but he was not adverse to talking with Dr. Keyworth. 

"I'll be at the convention," Bartlet said. "I don't think it'll work out this time." 

"Thought I'd offer," Stanley said. "Then I will see you in three weeks." 

"Three weeks it is," Bartlet disconnected. 

*****************

The day of the President's arrival dawned with no complications on the horizon, leaving some staffers jittery. Crisis was a drug and without it, one could go into withdrawl. Sensing their anxiousness, the Chief of Staff ordered them to take the afternoon and do nothing--no work and no hard play (he knew they could create problems without trying). 

The blazing afternoon sun beat down on the hot sands. Temperatures were soaring into the mid-90s, and the sunbathers and beachgoers welcomed the ocean breeze. CJ, in a red swimsuit, and Donna, in a coral bikini, relaxed in lounges on the private beach outside the hotel. 

The convention was in full swing, but there was nothing to do that afternoon--something the staff found unnerving. The President was giving his acceptance speech the following evening and was throwing a private dinner for the staff and their families that evening. CJ's parents were unable to attend--something she found more relaxing than disappointing. Sam had spent the previous evening chaperoning his father. He appeared worried with the way Mr. Norman Seaborn smiled at Anna Lyman. 

"So, Donna," CJ said ignoring a rather well-tanned, well-toned figure walk by; the ache over Simon Donovan was still sharp--sharp enough she wasn't sure it would ever fade completely. She found it easier to bury herself in the concerns of others lately rather than think about where her own life was going. "You've been quiet too long. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," Donna answered. Her gaze was fixated on a pelican as it dove into the ocean, trying to catch its lunch. 

CJ let the answer pass. These were the first hours of peace she had experienced since the previous May when the President made the devastating announcement of his illness. A sultry afternoon spent on a beach watching waves and seagulls did not necessarily require conversation, she kewn. However, in quiet moments, her mind would stray and the pangs in her heart would grow. She wanted to avoid that. 

"It's nothing," Donna continued after a moment of silence. "Childish, if you think about it CJ." 

"Okay," CJ ventured, glad for the offered distraction. "What am I thinking about?" 

"Josh." 

"Lyman?" CJ asked, tipping her sunglasses down to observe Donna with a critical stare. "I don't think so. We agreed this was going to be two hours of relaxing. Relaxing. Josh. Mutually exclusive events, sister." 

"I'm serious," Donna sighed. 

"I can see," CJ replied. "Why?" 

"Why? Does it worry you?" 

"No," CJ continued. "That is, everything about Josh worries me. What I'm asking is, why am I thinking about him?" 

"Well, you're not," Donna said. 

"But you are," CJ said. "And so therefore, so am I?" 

"Right." 

"Okay, you can do this kind of thing with him--not me," CJ said, shaking her head. "It's like talking to a savant... or, well, Josh, which can kind of be the same thing, in my experience... Anyway, just say... whatever and be done with it." 

CJ tried to search Donna's face, searching for any indication of what might logically follow. Then again, she reasoned, a conversation about Josh with Donna probably had no logic; so little about them did. Every once in a while, CJ would wonder about their odd relationship. It was more like some bizarre twist on the Corsican Brothers--if you hurt one, the other would feel it. It was hard to think about one without thinking about the other, yet there was no doubt in CJ's mind that they were very separate individuals who did not view or define themselves in terms of the other. CJ knew the Josh/Donna pairing wasn't strictly professional, and at the same time, it certainly wasn't personal in the private sense--yet, after observing them for so long, she could not shake the impression she was watching a Tracy and Hepburn film when they interacted. 

"He's just...," Donna began then stopped. "What do you make of his behavior?" 

"Fun, whenever the chance presents itself," CJ replied with a flip tone. 

She continued to study Donna, though it was difficult under the sunglasses and oversize straw hat Donna wore; even Donna's tone was guarded. CJ couldn't tell if Donna was concerned or annoyed. 

"I don't make anything of his behavior," CJ continued. "Is this about the thing with the President at Camp David?" 

"No," Donna said. "I didn't think that was anything. Was it?" 

"No," CJ said firmly. "The President needed some space from all of us that weekend. Josh and he just... . They don't have the same approach to politics. They hold similar views, but they look at things a little differently. Josh can be exceptionally pragmatic and..." 

"CJ," Donna interrupted. "I'm not a reporter, and this isn't the briefing room. I know what Josh is and isn't. I know he and the President have been on different sides recently. Of course, the only way I know it is from what I heard from Ed and Larry or what you get asked during briefings. Josh never says a word, which is normal because he'd never.... Well, you know." 

"Right," CJ sighed. "Okay, so you said it yourself. Josh is Josh. If he seems a little more... whatever lately, its just the convention. That's all. He's like Toby when it comes to the convention. His personality gets amplified at the convention--it's where his ego goes to get the pressure topped off. He lives for this kind of stuff. Me, I hate the convention. It's all about the media--something that's supposed to be my domain--but I have no control over anything, though I'm expected to do it all the same. So, the convention is not my thing. There lies one of the many, bone-deep differences between Josh and myself. He loves this barely controlled chaos. To him, and Toby too, the convention is a pilgrimage to their mecca. The Promised Land or their Disney Land... or, since we're talking about Josh, Baseball Fantasy Camp with the Mets." 

"I suppose," Donna sighed. "The convention just isn't fun it this time, and I don't think I'm the only one who thinks that way. Josh isn't... being..... I don't know. Josh loves his job--I know he does, but lately...." 

"We've been through a lot in the last year," CJ said needlessly. "That's one of the reasons Leo ordered us to take personal time today. And so far, I only see you and I following his orders." 

Donna nodded. Sam had called them from his room where he was holed up writing the 99th draft of the first major address the President was to give after the convention; he promised to join them shortly--though that had been 40 minutes earlier. Toby was sitting in a dark corner of the VIP lounge at the hotel, wringing and bouncing the life out of a rubber ball waiting for Sam to cut the three paragraphs he had been rewriting since the weekend at Camp David. Josh was MIA, but allegedly Joey Lucas had arrived in town to discuss some specialized polling conducted in recent days. 

Donna knew it was pointless to try to analyze Josh based on a few sighs and his lack of overall communication to her about things she really didn't need to know. She reminded herself that his moods were always fluctuating and big events always brought out the easily agitated side of his personality. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, she felt. She wasn't sure what it was, but after the staff returned from Camp David in early July, she caught Josh pausing often when he spoke to her. He had been doing it even more the previous evening after a phone call he refused to discuss with her. 

Pausing in and of itself was nothing. Meant nothing. Except that it did, Donna knew. Josh Lyman only paused when he was deeply distracted or afraid he might say something he ought not. Both equaled the same thing: He was hiding something. That worried Donna. Josh's secrets were never good. 

However, she forced herself not to dwell on it too much for that afternoon. She knew she was apt to over-think a situation. It did no good to hypothesize about what Josh might be thinking. In fact, the whole concept of delving into the inner recess of Joshua Lyman's mind was a tactic she felt was best left to professionals. 

*******************

The afternoon rolled through the balmy region. CJ and Donna were eventually joined by Sam, depressed and dejected over the most recent drafts (the102nd and 105th from the look on his face) of the President's speech. It just didn't sing, he kept saying. He wanted the Alleluia chorus but Toby's reaction to it left him feeling that words droned the monotonous refrain of "row, row, row your boat." 

Sam sat in a beach chair in the shade of an umbrella hammering away on his laptop computer, furiously deleting every other sentence he wrote. While Donna lounged in the shade reading a trashy paperback borrowed from CJ, CJ lofted ice cubes at Sam after each of his explosive sighs. Every chilly projectile missed him, much to her dismay, but had formed a ring of wet sand around his chair where the cubes were melting in the hot sand. 

As she ran out of ice, she craned her long, yet graceful, neck around in search of a waiter to refill her glass. What she found instead was another member of the staff approaching with a guest. They were linked, arm and arm, as they approached at a leisurely pace. 

"Whatever you're thinking, you can stop," CJ said as she tipped her sunglasses onto her nose to hit Josh with her full glare. 

"The paranoia you exude is phenomenal," Josh replied then turned to his companion. "CJ thinks I plot against her throughout the day for my own juvenile pleasure." 

"Yeah, she always struck me as a smart woman," SJ Rixon replied. 

At the sound of her voice, Donna turned her head in surprise to spy the couple. _Well_, _one mystery solved, _ she thought with a touch more scorn that she was prepared to feel. To hide her reaction, she sunk further in her chair. She told herself to let go of that feeling which some might mistake for jealousy. She didn't care, she told herself, that Josh had disappeared for the day to spend it with an ex-, well maybe still ex-, girlfriend, a woman who was supposedly no longer teaching at Georgetown but allegedly working a movie script adaptation of one of her books. _And what better place to work on a story about Washington than in Miami, alone for a day with Josh..._

"Where did you disappear to?" Sam asked in an accusing tone. 

"I've been right where you can find me," SJ grinned at Sam. "It's just that you never call." 

"I didn't mean you," Sam said unnecessarily as he caught a smirk on CJ's lips. "Tell me something, what is it with you women an initials?" 

"Power," SJ said instantly. 

"I can live with that," Josh replied with a nod. "SJ is down here doing... uh... I have no clue what. She tackled me on the golf course and made me buy her lunch even though she owes me money." 

"Shut up," the writer scowled as she glared daggers at him. 

"You went to play golf?" Sam said sounding hurt. "I wanted to play." 

"I thought you did," CJ questioned. 

"I did," Sam replied. "With Anna." 

"I'm sorry," Josh remarked. 

"You ditched your mother?" SJ asked him accusingly. "Your own mother? Josh that is low. I mean, low even for a man. Low even for... well, you." 

"Okay, I'm having dinner with her tonight, and yesterday she told me she had plans for this morning," Josh argued. 

"They were canceled," Sam explained. "Some friend of hers wasn't feeling well. She was looking for you." 

"How do you know?" Josh asked, the guilt in his face made the regret in his voice more apparent. 

"She asked me to look for you," Sam replied. "I was on my way to play a round so I invited her. Anyway, your mother and Ed and myself and Ginger played at the hotel course this morning. Ginger had never played and Ed was going to teach her. So we all.... Well, it turned into a thing so we played the front nine." 

"Who won?" CJ asked with a sadistic grin. 

"I did," Sam said with a pout. 

"You mean your team," the Press Secretary corrected him. "You and Anna..." 

"Why do you all call her Anna?" Josh asked. "And don't say because it's her name. I know that." 

"Stop being a baby," CJ chided. "You should be crowing. Sam only won because your mother was his partner." 

"That's not true," Sam argued. "CJ, we played best ball. I had the best drives; she just...." 

"Was the one able to sink putts," CJ finished with a laugh. 

"Where did you play and why didn't you ask me?" Sam asked, turning his attention from CJ to Josh. 

"Morgan Green is here and he caught me in the hall last night," Josh informed him. "He was putting together a foursome and needed one more. That was about 2 a.m. and tee-time was 6 a.m." 

"You've been playing golf all day?" CJ asked astonished. "It's three o'clock! We have been..." 

"Sitting in the sun?" Josh ventured. 

"Discussing and reviewing plans," CJ huffed. 

"Yeah," Josh nodded. "Nice tan. Look, the President and Leo said take a couple hours off. I was just following orders." 

"He took a meeting with someone named Joey," SJ chimed in, defeating his superior smirk. 

_Oh, of course, he'd have to see Joey, too_, Donna thought, sinking further into her chair and wanting to disappear entirely. _The harem follows him; they're like groupies! Could this week possibly get any better? Maybe I'll be sitting with Amy Gardner at dinner tomorrow night--that would be the perfect end to a rotten week. Or maybe the sprinkler systems will go off in my room and my whole wardrobe will turn moldy or I'll get food poisoning... Why not all three at once?_

"That's when I saw him," SJ continued to explain to Sam about how she met up with Josh that morning and telling him bare details of some bet she had apparently lost to him. "Then Josh and this Joey person started haggling over some polling stuff, I think. She's deaf so regardless of the content of the discussion, she wins. She doesn't have to listen to his yapping." 

"Have I told you lately that I don't like you?" Josh countered. 

"SJ, how did someone like you you end up being a member of his fan club," Sam asked boldly. "You strike me as someone with taste." 

"Don't invite me to strike you," SJ said. "My heritage is that of people in low places. But, to answer your question, the statute of limitations has run out on bad choices I made in college. So, I neither admit nor deny your allegation." 

"You've been pleading no lo contendre all your life," Sam said. "When will it stop?" 

"About the same time you ax the faulty parallelism in your speeches," SJ said with with a smile tinged with an acid glare. "Well, I'd love to stand here and be underwhelmed by Sam's political prose, but I have a studio to fleece." 

She kissed Josh briefly on the cheek as a farewell as she prepared to leave. 

"Josh, I'll call you after this thing is over," she said. 

"Damn right you will," Josh scoffed. "You owe me money, sweetheart. No mulligans." 

"It was my first time," she replied. 

"Yeah, I heard that before," Josh smirked. "There are no mulligans. Ask Sam. Sam, are there ever any mulligans?" 

"Playing golf with Josh, no," Sam replied. "A gentleman would give a lady a couple do-overs, but you're out of the running there too, SJ. The gentleman and the whole lady thing, you know?" 

"Just for that, I'm glad you didn't have lunch with us," SJ said with a wink. "Our lunch companion asked to meet you, but now I'm saying no." 

"Who?" Sam asked, attempting to sound non-chalant and failing. 

"Julia Roberts," SJ said. 

"You did not," Sam protested as he glared at Josh. "You did not have lunch with her!" 

"She's supposed to be in the movie they're making of SJ's trashy, little book ," Josh replied. 

"We were discussing changes that I oppose to my _ Pulitzer Prize winning novel_," SJ countered. "Anyway, it turns out she's sort of a fan of you two, and I dropped a few names. I'm not proud or modest." 

"It shows," Josh said and received a swift swat to the back of his head for the effort. 

"Well, I have to go pick a fight so my story doesn't get mangled further by a Hollywood hack," SJ said. "They're bringing in a new guy named Sorkin. They claim he can write political drama and good dialogue. We shall see. Wish me luck. CJ, good to see you. Hey, Donna, you have to dig a big hole in the sand if you want to drop out of sight completely. See y'all." 

Donna peered around the edge of her chair and watched SJ toss off a brisk wave then depart alone. 

"You had lunch with Julia Roberts," Sam pouted. 

"Yeah, but you won your round, right?" Josh said. "All I had was..." 

"Lunch with one of the most beautiful women in the country," Sam scoffed. "Yeah, I feel so much better. You really selfless, Josh. You're all about sacrifice." 

"I know," he agreed with a sigh as he took a seat beside Sam. "It's not easy being humble, either." 

"Don't talk to me-- ever again," Sam scowled. 

"You didn't miss anything," Josh said honestly. "SJ kept trying to argue her way out of paying me." 

"She was in your foursome?" CJ asked. 

"No, we met outside the clubhouse as Joey was leaving," Josh said. "Somehow we got into a thing about golf... Anyway, it turned into a bet that she couldn't.... Doesn't matter. She's a sore loser." 

"Josh, I don't get it with you and these women," CJ said. "They're smart; most are reasonably well-adjusted; and none seem to exhibit outward signs of psychosis. How do you end up with them? How is it every woman you date breaks up with you then turns into part of your fan club eventually? You drug them, don't you?" 

"You sound both jealous and envious," Josh observed. 

"Get checked for sunstroke, golf boy," CJ said rising to her full height. "I'm going to walk in the surf. Donna, join me." 

Donna nodded and placed her book on the sand. She grabbed a sheer wrap to protect her lily white skin from the intense rays. As she started after CJ, she looked briefly over her shoulder. Josh was sitting in a chair turned away from the view of the water, so he could face Sam for what appeared to be an intent discussion. He never turned his head in her direction, never acknowledged her in any way. Her shoulders drooped as she followed CJ to the water. 

Sam stopped typing and surveyed his work. Sam huffed and deleted the entire piece, disgusted with what he wrote. He closed his laptop, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 

"Sam," Josh said, "you've been working on that thing too long. You're done." 

"I'm not," Sam argued with a sigh. "I've got to have it ready by tonight so Toby can go over it after the dinner. This writer's block is the worst case since... since... See, I can't even compose a thought about how bad it is!." 

"You don't have writer's block," Josh informed him confidently. "You're just neurotic. Save your sanity, Sam. Do what Toby said and just cut the paragraphs." 

"I need them," Sam insisted. 

"You need therapy," Josh countered. "Toby said cut 'em, so cut 'em. Look, you know what the President's going to do. He's going to skip the whole section and go off on one of his own tangents. It's a good speech--no, it's a great speech, Sam. Wrap it up." 

Sam nodded and watched the waves of the Atlantic crash the shoreline. 

"Have you spoken with him?" Sam asked. 

"No," Josh replied. "Why?" 

"Just curious," Sam said. "I talked to him today about the highway bill. I got chewed out, too. It's not personal." 

"I know," Josh said, studying his hands. 

"It's just... He's under stress and he needs to let it out," Sam continued. "He wouldn't do that to you if he didn't trust you." 

Josh said nothing. Sam was the third person on staff to offer Josh words of support regarding his recent lack of rapport with the President. Josh had not sought their counsel--hadn't even confided in them of the bursts of temper he met when he spoke with the President lately. However, the White House was a small place. It didn't take long for word to travel--especially when the President's verbal drubbings occurred in the presence of other staffers. CJ had gotten questions in the press room about the future of Josh's career with the Administration. Though Josh did not believe his job was in jeopardy, he did long for the days when he could speak freely around the President without worry of being made a punching bag for whatever snafu had befallen the campaign recently. 

"I'm not worried about it," Josh said. 

"You shouldn't be," Sam continued. "He just... He knows you won't punch back, and he knows you won't take it personally. He needs that right now. So... you know... don't." 

"Sam, I said I'm fine," Josh replied then made moves to change the subject. "When's your father getting in?" 

"Tomorrow morning," Sam said. "My mother can't come. My cousin, her niece, is getting married next month so she needs to be at a shower." 

"Things okay?" 

"I guess," Sam nodded. "I just would have thought that a shower was... Well, this is dinner with the President. He's thanking our families for their support and the sacrifices they've had to make for what we do. I mean, it's not like my parents have had to make a sacrifice or anything, but..." 

"It's a wedding thing," Josh said. "Women think that stuff is important." 

"Yeah," Sam nodded, having coming to that conclusion himself and wanting to change the topic. "So, you do recall that this city has hosted the convention before?" 

"Yeah, back in '72," Josh said. "But it never really counted." 

"Why is that?" Sam asked. 

"Because they nominated McGovern." 

"True," Sam conceded. 

The two men sat in silence. Josh glanced back over to Sam, whose face still bore the look of hopelessness. The speech writer scanned the horizon, watching the recently departed women tentatively wade in the undulating waves of the blue green water of the tidal pool. Suddenly, his frown curved upward and a devious glint took hold in Sam's eyes. 

"Well, I see a perfect opportunity to strike," Sam snickered. 

"What?" Josh asked. 

"Well, we've got CJ," he said gesturing with a nod toward the shoreline. "We've got an entire ocean; we've got a perfect opportunity. I mean, to ignore a chance like this is... well, a crime." 

Josh turned slowly and narrowed his sights on the six-foot tall press secretary. 

"Yeah," Josh said blandly. "That's a pretty strong case of a moral imperative." 

"Time to commence Operation Dunk You Very Much." 

Josh turned to Sam with a strange look. 

"Operation...? Now, I know why you can't finish that part of the speech." 

"Don't start," Sam commanded. "Are you going to join me?" 

"Next time," Josh said, flipping open his cellphone. "I gotta call Leo." 

"More fun for me then--besides, she needs this," Sam nodded then departed in CJ's general direction with his hands suspiciously clasped behind his backs and a childish grin on his face. 

*****************

"So, your mother's there?" Leo asked, turning the conversation away from the issue of possibly uncovered medical records. 

"Yeah," Josh said. "I apparently stood her up for something today. I was going to find her after this call." 

"Go," Leo said from his seat aboard Air Force One. "We're landing in 30 minutes. His mood is good, and tonight is going to go well." 

"You got that in writing?" 

"Yeah, from Toby," Leo said. "He just faxed it to me. Look, it was a break-in." 

"You don't read anything into the fact that I got a call from Chris Lambert?" 

"California is a big state and the LA Times is a big paper," Leo reassured him. "Look, there was nothing taken; besides, nothing pertaining to anyone of concern was in the office where the burglars entered. And, anything else there that could have been seen wouldn't have names on it, so you can stop worrying." 

"Leo," Josh sighed. "I'm not worried about me." 

"Josh," the Chief of Staff cut him off. "It was a burglary." 

"So was Watergate," Josh replied. 

"Josh," Leo growled. 

"Lesson number one from Watergate?" 

"Don't hire stupid people--even if they're trying to sabotage Democrats," Leo replied. 

"I meant from the journalist perspective," Josh continued. "Follow the money, right?" 

"I don't follow you, but as far as I know, no money was taken," Leo said. 

"Better than money," Josh said. "Records. Not medical ones. Financial ones. I just got the list from Stanley this afternoon. They know when he traveled and where if they want to do a little checking from his accounts." 

"Who's gonna do that, Josh?" Leo argued. "These are burglars." 

"Why would you break into a doctor's office?" Josh asked. "There was no money there, but there was a prescription pad in the desk; it wasn't taken. This is not a burglar for money or drugs, Leo. This was something else. Someone wanted information. Maybe it has something to do with one of his clients in California, but I wouldn't bet on it." 

"We'll talk tonight," Leo sighed. "Now, go see your mother. I don't want to get a lecture from her." 

"Right," Josh said. "Like that's not gonna happen." 

*****************

Donna walked down the hall toward Josh's door. When she arrived, she hesitated before knocking. She smoothed her hands over her sleek black dress. The sultry fabric was close fitting; the scooped neckline and high side slit earned her several lingering glances in the elevator. She had tried to call Josh's room twice but received no answer. She doubted he had left yet; though he claimed he could knot his tie correctly, he was usually wrong. Over the course of her work with Josh, she had adopted many unwritten aspects to her job description. She figured that seeing that the boss was presentable when dining formally with the President and his mother was one of them. 

Donna removed the smirk from her face and tried to look neutral as she briefly checked that her hair was still swift up in a smooth, sophisticated French twist rather than succumbing to the humidity. Satisfied with the inspection, she rapped smartly on the door. 

Donna could hear him speaking rapidly to someone as the knob turned and the door opened a crack. She stepped into the room and instantly shook her head. 

Josh stood with his back to her giving his caller and earful of terse instructions. Donna surveyed the room and sighed. Disarray was an apt description. Newspapers, files and clothing littered the bed and floor surrounding it. She shook her head while his conversation continued. 

"You need a full-time maid everywhere you go," she remarked. "Your mother never made you clean your room, did she?" 

"Uh huh," he continued his phone conversation, oblivious to her statement. 

Donna set about gathering the files strewn across the bed into a pile--figuring they would be thrust at her for organizing sooner or later anyway. From her brief perusal, they appeared to belong to major topics on the platform for the speech the next evening. The notes inside were a composite of Sam's, Toby's and Josh's thoughts (in each's handwriting). From the furious scribbling, there had been intense discussions late that afternoon. 

"I don't care what Toby asked for," Josh argued. "Give him what he asks for and then give me my numbers... I know he gets his first that way... He's got his thing to do, and I've got mine.... Right and for his, he's not looking at a full sample. Let him extrapolate and postulate; I want to KNOW... Yes, raw numbers and those you've run through the rubric... I can run that by Leo later, but I can tell you now that he'll say.... Okay... Thanks." 

Josh sighed and tossed his cell phone toward the bed. He shook his head and muttered several unintelligible words under his breath. 

"What?" she asked. 

"Why is it we must always prove Murphy's Law?" he asked, though she was certain he was being rhetorical. 

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" she asked in return. 

"Hmm?" he said finally turning to face her. 

"Better question," she continued. "Why aren't you dressed yet?" 

"I am dressed," he said. "Mostly." 

"Okay, you've got one shoe on; your shirt is half buttoned and your tie is no where near your body," she said. "Do you have any idea where it and your other shoe might be or do I have a scavenger hunt on my hands?" 

"I was getting dressed and my phone rang," he said. 

"You didn't answer it," she pointed out. 

"I was just talking on it," he protested. 

"I called this room twice before I came up here," she said. 

"That's not my phone," he said diffidently. "That belongs to the hotel." 

"Shut up and find your tie," she commanded. 

He pointed firmly toward the writing desk in the corner. Draped over the back of the chair was a black tie. She plucked it from its perch and started giving him orders: _Find your shoe_ (it was on the floor near the bed); _put it on; locate your cufflinks and tell me you remembered to hang up your jacket._

He accepted her directions, yet all the while he grumbled about being treated like a child. Donna didn't bother to hide her smirk. 

_ If the people Josh routinely intimidated could only see him like this_, she thought, _they'd never quake in their boots again. Hardly anybody suspects this part of Josh exists. I'll bet only half a dozen people have ever seen this side of him. How did I get to be one of them? How often have I seen this? Dozens of times, easily. Oh Joshua, for a man with such a straightforward personality, you certainly are an enigma._

He sat on the edge of the bed and finished tying his shoe. He then looked up at her suspiciously. The questioning glance quickly melted into a grin. 

"Tied 'em myself," he said. 

"You never cease to amaze me," she said in flat tones. "You certainly know how to impress a lady, Josh." 

"Really?" he remarked. "You know any?" 

Donna bit back the urge to chastise him for the juvenile humor. She knew retaliation would lead to another comment and the whole thing would dissolve into a tit-for-tat banter session that, while entertaining, would also be nonproductive and time consuming. They were on a schedule. Josh needed to meet up with his mother before they needed to be in the reserved dinning room; and he needed to do this before the President arrived or he would be served with a healthy dose of the President's ire and he certainly didn't need to go looking for more of that lately. 

Donna sighed forcefully. Any further rejoinder from him was cut off as the cell phone trilled again. Josh snatched the instrument from the bed and began speaking. As he gave the caller a litany of instructions to convey to delegates the following day, Donna looked at the clock beside the bed. They had 20 minutes to spare. She decided to get things moving. 

She rooted through Josh's backpack and located his cufflinks then opened the closet and (thankfully) discovered his jacket hanging there. By that time, he was pacing around the room. She lay the jacket on the bed then grabbed his arm as he passed by her. 

"You can stand, but stand still," she ordered. 

"Hold on," he said to the caller then covered the mouthpiece. "Donna, what the hell?" 

"Honestly, Josh," she said fastening his cufflinks into place. "Sometimes it's easier if I just treat you like a three-year-old. You can't even get dressed without my help." 

He shook his head and returned to his call. Donna then turned her attention to his shirt. She worked on the buttons, but the task not as easy as it should have been as she found herself fumbling with the them. She was acutely aware of how close she was standing to him; the sound of his voice; the rhythm of his breathing.... 

Donna shook her head and refocused her mind on the buttons. She fixed her eyes on the buttons, but her gaze was drawn to the patch of bare, smooth, tanned skin in front of her. She blinked hard and forced her eyes several inches higher and found herself staring at his face. 

As she did this, Josh could feel the tremble in her fingers. He caught the blush in her cheeks. He smirked and tried valiantly to keep his voice calm and even as he conveyed to the DNC staffer what had been decided that afternoon. He rattled off the details from memory. He disconnected soon after. 

"How's it going?" he asked as she fiddled with the top button. 

"Um, fine," she said distractedly. 

As the final button slipped into place, Donna laced her arms around his neck and began to work on the tie. Josh looked at her closely, feeling the warm rush of her breath on his cheek. Donna could feel his eyes on her; she bit her lip in order to concentrate. Other than that, her face was pristine, Josh noted. Her pale blue eyes sparkled; her fine cheekbones and alabaster skin were accentuated by the sultry and sophisticated styling of her silky blond tresses. His eyes roamed down her graceful neck as he felt her fingers along his neck as she fiddled with the tie. 

Donna tugged the knot straight and allowed herself a shallow breath. Her cheeks felt hot and her body shivered. She kept her hands on the edges of the bow and looked up from her work as Josh reached for the tie to adjust it. He placed his hand over hers. She found herself locked in the gaze of his gentle, warm, excited eyes. His mouth went dry and a wash of pink filled her cheeks as the gaze, like the moment, lingered. 

"You look good," Josh said softly. 

"Thank you," she replied, wrestling her eyes away. As she did, she tried to step away, but was unable as he held onto her hand a moment longer. 

"Donna...." 

"Hey!" Sam shouted as he banged on the door. "Josh! You there? Let's go! Your mother arrived like half and hour ago with my father and... Well, just between us I think he might have been flirting with her, which isn't to say he was hitting on her, because I'm sure he wasn't, but still...." 

Donna slid her hand from his grasp and stepped away. She turned her back and managed a deep, shaky breath. 

"What?" Josh called snapping from his trance. "Oh, right. Hold on." 

Josh reached his hand forward to touch her shoulder then retracted. He shook his head, his mind a muddle. He looked at the bed and saw his jacket. 

_Dinner. With the President and my mother. Eight O'clock. Sam's father and my mother. Oh no. No, not tonight._

"I'm heading down stairs now," Sam said. 

"Yeah," Josh shouted. "I'll be right there." 

******************

Leo leaned on the polished surface and joked about placing a brandy snifter by his elbow to collect tips. The lounge was deserted other than himself, the bartender and the piano player. It was the individual at the ivories who held his attention. Anna Lyman was, without a doubt, a beautiful woman. Her face did not show her age and her bright green eyes sparkled rather than reflect all the tears they had cried. She grinned back at Leo, taking his joke for the compliment it was meant to be, as she finished playing the song. A music teacher by profession, the private lessons she gave during her career were more often than not on violins and cellos, but the piano was always Anna's favorite instrument. She regretted selling hers when she moved to Florida; however, the new house simply did not have the room that her Connecticut home had. 

"Just open up your own piano bar," Leo recommended. "You can play all you like, meet new people. Could spawn a career in show business if you market yourself right. That should keep Josh just nuts enough so that he calls you more often. It would be your dream come true." 

"I prefer to keep Joshua from worrying about me," Anna chuckled; though she dismissed Leo's suggestion, it did appeal to her on some level. "What are you doing to keep him from worrying?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"My freedom of speech with Joshua does not extend to my questioning the actions of the President in regard to his treatment of my son," Anna said as he fingers unconsciously waltzed up and down the keys. "I hear things; CJ did a briefing that I saw on C-Span recently. I found a few of the questions... interesting. Leo, I wouldn't pretend to understand the pressure on the President at any time, but I am certain he doesn't need to ease his emotional anguish by giving my son tongue lashings. I firmly believe that there is no place for rudeness in this world, not even in the Oval Office." 

"Anna," Leo sighed. "That's not what happened. You shouldn't worry about...." 

"But I will and I do," she said as she continued playing softly. "Joshua hasn't said anything to me about it. Which is a signed in and of itself; he should have been a spy." 

"Josh?" Leo gaped. "Anna, he can't bluff to save his..." 

"He's good at hiding things," Anna cut in. "Very good." 

Leo nodded. His deputy could keep secrets--better than most of Washington. It was one of the main reasons Leo trusted him so much. 

"I am under no delusions of my son's perfection," Anna continued. "He's human, and he makes mistakes. But they're honest mistakes. He admits to them, he does what he can to correct them." 

"I know that," Leo said. "Really, Anna. There's nothing to worry about. We're all in the same boat. Nobody's going to push Josh out or whatever you think might happen--no matter how much you want it. You think I don't know what you're doing? I think this is just your newest tactic to get me to fire him. So there, what do you think?" 

"I think Joshua would have been better off if his parents hadn't been so willful," Anna sighed listening to the notes hang in the air briefly before speaking again. "Neither Noah nor I ever pushed him; we never had to--he did it himself. We buried Joanie on a Friday and moved into an apartment one of Noah's partner's owned the day after. On Monday morning, Joshua got up; got dressed; and walked to school. I got a call from Mr. Provost, Joshua's principal, around 9 o'clock. Mr. Provost said he was very surprised to see Joshua back at school so quickly. He wanted me to know that I hadn't needed to send Joshua back to school so soon after... that we could keep him at home for the rest of the week if we wanted. I was quite surprised to get the call." 

"Why? Seems natural the school would make that offer." 

"The offer didn't surprise me," Anna answered. "The fact I got a call at all did. I didn't know Joshua wasn't in the apartment. I thought he was in his room sleeping. I didn't even know he knew the way to his school from the apartment. But he did. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he did it--alone--without being told. He stopped being a child and accepted responsibilities that were not his to take--not at that age. He was still just a baby to me, my little boy, but when he came home that day and I asked him why he had gone to school, it was his expression that told me more than his words; there was no fear, but there was pain and acceptance that that was how things were going to be. Something had gone wrong, and he was certain it was his fault and that it was his job to do everything conceivable to fix it. That look in his eyes terrified me to my soul; it meant that I'd lost both my children. I could still see and hear Joshua, but he wasn't my little boy anymore." 

"Anna, I know all about how things were for him then, but this has nothing to do with that," Leo said. "They're not the same at all." 

"I see that same look in his eyes now, Leo," Anna cut in. "Joshua is good at hiding things--things that scare me." 

Leo sighed. He couldn't begrudge the woman her concern for her son, but he also could do nothing to allay her worries. Josh was what he was and that's what made him good at what he did. However, Leo also knew it was also those traits which made him a danger to himself on some occasions. This was not one of them, he told himself. He believed it. The bumpy road the President and Josh were traveling was one that others had taken with the President before; Toby had traversed it so often he probably should have had a bumper sticker commemorating the journeys. 

"I'll give you this mantra one final time," Leo said. "He's fine; nothing's wrong; you worry too much." 

*****************

Donna walked quickly down the hallway, carrying with her two fax pages meant for Toby. Ginger had asked her to deliver them to the private conference room around the corner from the dining room where the President was meeting with Josh and Toby. They had been in the room for a solid 20 minutes and Ginger wanted to eat her dinner before it got cold. Donna agreed to play messenger. As she approached, the door opened and Charlie exited. 

"Can I go in?" Donna asked. 

"Yeah," Charlie nodded as he walked quickly down the hall. "I have to go give a message to the First Lady. Just make sure you close the door behind you." 

"Sure thing," Donna said brightly as she knocked twice, as was the custom in the White House, then entered. 

*****************

"And precisely why is this anything I should be the least bit worried about?" Bartlet said aggressively. 

"Because, Mr. President, there was a break in," Toby said. "We just wanted you to be aware that there is possibly something that could come of this."   
  
Bartlet scowled and sighed heavily. He had dealt with this non-issue with Leo on the plane. Now these two yahoos were in here telling him he was wrong. 

"I disagree," Bartlet said. "Further more, I don't think this has anything to do with me. I have been assure that nothing was taken or revealed about anything over which I would have even the most remote concern." 

He paused as the knock on the door sounded. Donna Moss entered with a whispered apology for the intrusion then handed some papers to Toby. Bartlet continued. 

"I think this is more about someone else possibly feeling more than a bit paranoid," he said as he narrowed his gaze on Josh. 

"I only wish it were that, Mr. President," Josh replied. 

"Oh, you wish," Bartlet said grandly. "What an interesting and provocative approach to professionalism, Josh. That's kind of a wussy denial--even for you." 

Donna had turned and had her hand on the doorknob again when she heard the President's statement. She turned abruptly to observe the scene before her: the President glared at Josh who made no move to defend himself. Toby stood between the two men, watching both with a practiced eye. 

"Our point is that you should know...." 

"Our point?" Bartlet cut Josh off. "You mean your point. Look, I'm not worried about my reputation, though with your antics in recent weeks, keeping you in my administration does leave me open to criticism, I suppose. No, I think what I am hearing is your point. Now, if you're afraid that something involving you might reflect bad on me or the administration, well, you've come the party a bit late. We've swallowed that pill quite a fews times recently. As for this latest thing, I'm not concerned. I can't imagine there aren't people in Washington who don't already think you need therapy." 

"Mr. President," Donna said, aghast at the acidic words, the disrespectful tone in his voice and the derisive scowl in his eyes. 

Everyone turned to look at her--as if seeing her standing there for the first time. Donna froze, hearing her words and feeling a sinking feeling in her stomache. The look on the President's face was one of puzzlement, as though she had not spoken English. Toby's eyes were wide and surprised. Josh's expression was eeriely unreadable. 

"I'm sorry, Donna," the President asked smoothly. "Did you say something?" 

"N... No.... sir," she stammered. Her face felt hot and red and she wanted to cry. 

"I didn't hear you," the President continued. 

"Donna, you can go," Josh said firmly. 

"I'm.... I'm so...," she said, words getting stuck on her tongue. "Sorry. I didn't mean... I was... I'm sorry." 

"What's..." the President began and was cut off by Toby. 

"It was nothing," Toby said curtly. "That will be all, Donna. Thank you. You can go back to the party now." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, afraid to meet Josh's eyes or glance in the direction of the President. 

"Donna, please go," she heard Josh said. "Now." 

She nodded, feeling prickly and dizzy. She had gone too far. She hadn't.... What had she done again, she tried to remember as she drifted out of the room and back to the hallway leading to the private dining room. She was dazed and not sure that she wasn't dreaming. After all, she reasoned, she would never scold the President. It wasn't done. Perhaps by Leo and the First Lady, but never by an assistant. The sick feeling in her stomache continued as she moved down the hall. She turned the corner to see Leo disconnecting from his cell phone and looking both bored and agitated. 

"How's it going, Donna," he said in a prefunctory manner. 

"Hey Leard," she began and shook her head to try again. "I mean, Lor.... What's your name again?"   
  
"Last time I checked it was Leo," he offered with a perplexed glance at her comment and glazed expression. "Donna, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing," she said in a shaky tone. "I was just with Josh. He was talking to the President and..." 

"Oh no," Leo sighed heavily. "Give it to me, 20 words or less. What did he say?" 

"Josh?" 

"Yeah." 

"He didn't say anything to the President," Donna said, shaking her head. "He wasn't the one speaking when I was there." 

Leo felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck--the kind a person feels after passing by a horrible accident on the freeway 

"What happened?" 

"No," she insisted. "He didn't do anything or say anything. I wondered why he wasn't. And then it happened very quickly." 

"What did?" Leo asked tersely. 

"Nothing," she said tightly. 

"Donna." 

"I think what it is is that nothing happens quickly all the time with us, Leo," she said vaguely. 

"I'm beginning to lose my patience here, Donna," Leo said. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Josh is not pleased with me," she said, keeping her voice from cracking and firmly clasping her hands so they would not shake further. "And neither is... It was the way I said his name." 

"Donna?" Leo asked. "What are you talking about? What about Josh's name?" 

"It was the way I said Mr. President," she trembled. 

"You called Josh..." 

"No, I called the President _Mr. President_," she clarified. 

"Well, that's encouraging that you recognize the President," Leo nodded, relaxing slightly. "Would you mind telling me what's going on or, you know, leaving?" 

"I didn't say anything wrong, but it was wrong to say it," Donna continued as the trembling in his clasped hands rippled through her muscles and toward her stomach. 

"Seriously, Donna," Leo said tersely. "Do I need to go find the President?" 

"Toby said it was nothing," she shook her head, not believing his words. "He said I should get some air and go listen to the music." 

"Good idea," Leo said, ushering her toward the hallway and snapping his fingers to get Margaret's attention. "Take a walk with Margaret." 

"Where?" Donna asked eagerly. 

"Away from me sounds good," Leo suggested. "A little change should fix everything for you." 

"Yes," Donna said, enthusiastically; the idea was miraculous. She gripped Leo's forearm warmly. "That is what I need. Start over." 

"Yeah," Leo agreed, prying her fingers from his wrist as Margaret began to lead Donna away. 

"I have a new dress," Donna said, turning back to smile gratefully at Leo. "You are so smart, Leo." 

"That's probably why I have no clue what you're talking about," he agreed. "Go... do whatever with your new dress." 

Donna drifted away, her mind fixed on her new course of action. She reassured Margaret that she was not going nutty and promised to return to the gathering shortly. She gave the same reassurance to Charlie, though he did not ask for one, as they passed each other near the elevators. He watched her disappear as the doors closed and made a mental note to ask Josh if Donna was all right.   


*****************

Toby and Josh returned to the party, the President in better humor as the rollercoaster of his moods was rising again. Toby made a bee-line for the bar and Josh scanned the room for his mother. He found her easily, dancing with Leo. After several moments of staring in their general direction, they parted. Leo offered a grin in Josh's direction that said he was enjoying this torture. Josh nodded in return as his mother approached him. 

"Leo is such a wonderful dancer," she said guiding Josh back toward her seat at their table. "I could dance with him all night." 

"But you're not going to, right?" Josh asked, as he scoped the room again. 

"My perogative, darling," Anna replied and noticed his attention straying. "What or for whom are you looking, darling?" 

"Donna," Josh said. "She was... We just had a meeting and I thought she was coming back here."   
  
"I haven't seen her," Anna said. "Then again, I wasn't precisely looking either. Do you need something from her?" 

"I just....," Josh shook his head and looked at his watch. "Nothing. It can wait. So, before my meeting, you were trying to talk me into moving to Florida to do something." 

"You weren't listening," she chided him. 

"No, I was listening, I just wasn't giving it any thought," he said with a grin. "But, by all means, continue." 

It was nearing 10 p.m. His mother would be turning in soon--as long as Leo Astair didn't tempt her back onto the dance floor. After that, he could check on Donna. 

*****************

"Hey Josh," Charlie said as Josh entered the lobby. "You just escort your mother back to her hotel?" 

"Yeah," Josh said, pulling the ends of his tie loose and openning the buttons on his collar. "Her return flight leave at 6 a.m. so I'm not going to see her before she goes. She had to finish her pitch to quit my job." 

"Was she successful?" Charlie asked as they walked toward the elevators. 

"No," Josh chuckled. "Even bad days at the White House are good in my book." 

"That's the spirit," Charlie said. "I knew you were a glutton for punishment." 

"I am a Democrat," Josh proclaimed proudly. "Say, did Donna return to the party?" 

"No," Charlie said. "Toby asked if I had seen her. I take it something went wrong?" 

"No," Josh lied and from Charlie's expression he knew he'd done it badly. He pushed the button for the 15th floor, where Donna's room was located. "It was nothing. Toby took care if it. She just... I should probably make sure she's okay." 

"Okay," Charlie said. "Hope everything's okay." 

"It's fine," Josh said as the elevator doors openned to the 15th floor. "If you see Sam, tell him I'm gonna stop by Donna's room." 

"Do you need him to check on her, too, or is there something going on that you need him for?" 

"Neither," Josh said. "It's still early and he said something about meeting CJ and Toby in the lounge later, maybe shoot some pool." 

"Okay," Charlie said as the doors slid closed. 

The elevator rose swiftly toward the President's reserved floor. As Charlie exited, there was the expected number of Secret Service agents milling about and looking serious. Charlie approached the President's personal suite to see Sam exit looking relaxed and plaased with himself. 

"I am the master, Charlie," he proclaimed. "Cincinati is done! He loved it. Toby loved it. I can do no wrong." 

Charlie nodded and kept his expression neutral, but his mind flashed to the last night he had spoken with Sam late at night about what was right and wrong. He also recalled Josh's request to pass along a message. 

"You seen Josh?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah," Charlie said cryptically. "He just brought his mother to her hotel." 

"He just left?" Sam asked, starting toward the elevator. 

"He said she has a 6 a.m. flight out tomorrow and he's not going to get a chance to see her off," Charlie reported without answering the question. "She wants him to quit his job at the White House." 

"Well, that's an all-night discussion," Sam chuckled. "Well, if you see him come back, tell him I'll be in the lounge hussling CJ at pool." 

"If I see him, I definitely will pass on the message," Charlie replied then walked toward his room, intent upon turning in for the night. 

****************

Donna stood in the middle of her room, looking at herself in the mirror. She had returned to her room an hour and a half earlier and spent an hour sitting on the bed, praying to wake up from this dream. When she forced herself to acknowledge that she knew she wasn't dreaming, she set about changing her clothes. She didn't think it would do any good, but it was better than doing nothing. She had just zipped up her ice blue dress with the spaghetti straps and sweetheart neckline and looked at herself in the mirror when there was a curt rap on her door. Reluctantly, she openned it. 

"Hey," Josh said, leaning on the casing. "What are you doing?" 

He looked like his night was over--his Tony Bennett look she thought distantly as she spied his tie. He seemed neither angry nor agitated. 

"Oh, nothing," Donna said, turning her head away in shame as she walked away from the open door. "I just thought that maybe I'd..." 

"You changed your clothes," Josh observed as he entered her room and closed the door. "Why?" 

"I.... I think... I don't know," Donna shrugged, knowing the explanation that if she changed her clothes she might be able to start her night over again and forget the awful slip up with the President wouldn't make sense to him. "Josh, I can't believe I said that. It was so awful. I sounded like... like..." 

"Like me in one of my less than stellar moments," he offered with a grin. "Donna, I don't think it was quite as bad as you think." 

"Really?" she turned toward him hopefully. "It wasn't?" 

"No," Josh shook his head. "It was, but... well. It's over." 

"I just can't believe I did that," Donna said. "I just... I've never heard him like that, but I.... I was wrong. I'm so sorry." 

"I know," Josh said easily. "And, you're right. You shouldn't have said it, but thanks anyway. Donna, it's not personal when he... when things get a little less than completely civil. It's just part of the job sometimes." 

Donna nodded and unconsciously adjusted the strap on her dress as it slipped off her shoulder. 

"It's kind of my fault," Josh said, tugging at his collar. "I should have..." 

"Stopped me?" Donna scoffed, dropping her shoulders. 

"I'm not sure I could have," Josh replied, watching the thin strap slid down her shoulder again. His gaze became fixed on the line of her jaw and her neck as she cast her pale blue eyes downward. "I mean, you didn't exactly blurt it out, but... Well, you just... did." 

"Yeah," Donna shrugged again and smiled demurely despite the situation. Suddenly, a thought, a horrible one, leapt to her mind. "Oh my god! That's why you're here." 

"What?" Josh asked, stunned by her abruptness. "What are you talking about?" 

"I guess I deserve it," Donna said, tears brimming in her eyes. "I mean, that's not the way you act to the President. I just thought... I stood up for you. Why didn't you do that for me? It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I said I'm sorry." 

"And I said I'm confused," Josh replied, stepping closer to her and grasping her arms lightly. "Donna, I'm just here to see if you're Okay." 

"You are?" she sniffled. 

Josh looked at her startled expression and shook his head as he offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. 

"You thought I was going to fire you," Josh surmised in a soothing tone. "I'm not. Just don't do it again." 

"Okay, thank you; I... I don't know what I'd do if we.... that is, if I couldn't...." Donna smiled. "You're just..." 

She felt giddy as she brushed a solitary tear out of her eyes. She shivered, though the room was not cool in her opinion. It was the way Josh was looking at her that made her feel that way, she knew. It made her tingly. 

"Uh, Josh?" she asked quietly. "Hello? Where are you?" 

His gaze was on her but the look in his eyes was distant as though hypnotized. 

"Uh, your... thing," he said distractedly as he drew her strap back onto her shoulder with his fingers, caressing her smooth alabaster skin as he did so. "It slipped again." 

"Oh," Donna replied softly as she gazed into his brown eyes, hypnotized by the brilliant green flecks that danced in his irises. 

Without thinking, she leaned toward him, meeting his lips with her own and feeling a current between them that stunned her and caused her to pull away trembling. 

"Got that out of your system?" Josh asked in a husky, breathless tone as they parted. 

"No," Donna said, surprising herself with the honesty and simplicity of her answer. 

"Okay," he sighed with a brisk nod.   
  
  


**Up Next: Chapter 21**   
**_ The Lunatic, The Lover and The Poet_**


	21. The Lunatic, The Lover and The Poet

**Title**: **THE QUEST: _The Lunatic, The Lover and The Poet_** **(Chapter 21)**   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Webpage**: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com   
**Notes**: _Though Rob Lowe is leaving WW and Sam will be exiting with him next March, WingNuts have negotiated a lucrative contract with "Sam, Sam the Sunshine Man," and he will remain in this serial; it was our intent from the start that Sam would be the first to leave the administration, but we're still building to that so please indulge us and let the plot thicken. That said, we will give you a teaser for the future of Mr. Seaborn--think legal expertise, think environmental, think political aspirations. Now, back to the current chapter....._

Josh ground the heels of his hands into his eyes then shook his head as the looked at his watch: 1:47 a.m. He sat in his seat on the Continental flight leaving Miami for Washington shortly. He had tried making notes, outlining what he needed to do, while waiting to board, but he could not focus. That worried him. There was serious business awaiting him back home. However, he wasn't sure whether it was his fate in Washington or his recent past in Miami that was causing this distraction. And that was what worried him most. 

Josh closed his eyes and tried to remember what constituted a happy thought when he sensed someone take the seat opposite his across the aisle. The flight was nearly empty and he could not fathom why someone would take a seat near anyone with so many empty ones to choose from. The reason, when it came, was not a good sign in his mind. 

"Josh?" a familiar voice asked as a small, slender hand touched his shoulder. 

"SJ?" he turned toward her startled. 

"What are you doing here?" SJ Rixon asked, from the seat beside him. 

"Leaving," he said simply. "You?" 

"The weather's gonna be horrible tomorrow and I need to be back home before noon so I got one of the last flights out," she replied. "What's wrong? The convention isn't over yet." 

"It is for me," Josh replied, shaking his head. "Business back home. An appointment." 

She stared at him, not believing a word of it. There was an extra cast of guilt on his face and a distraction in his eyes should found troubling. 

"Did you get fired?" 

He looked back at her and didn't bother to hide the mirth in his reaction. 

"Do you see my mother turning cartwheels around here any place," he replied, making a wide sweep of the cabin with his arms. 

It had been a long two and a half hours since his pager had gone off--calling him out into the night for an emergency meeting with Bruno Geonelli and Toby. That, though painful, had been the easy part. Once the motivation behind the L.A. reporter's phone call days earlier was determined, the course of action needed was simple to see. It would be simple to execute, too, Josh felt. Bruno, after very little discussion, had agreed. Toby held a fistful of reservations, but faced with the alternatives, had no choice but to concur with the political strategists. Toby had the difficult part now, Josh knew; Toby was the one charged with telling Leo what the trio had decided to do. 

"What's the smirk for?" Josh's companion asked. 

"Oh, sometimes its nice to share the pain," Josh said cryptically. "So did you beat Hollywood into submission?" 

"Filming will begin in September," SJ smiled. "Now, tell me what's going on." 

"Nothing," he said. "I have an appointment that I simply cannot miss back home. That's all. It's important that I be there for it. I desperately need to see someone about a thing." 

The writer cocked an eyebrow in his direction then pounded her fist on the arm rest of her seat and made a proclamation. 

"I call to order the latest meeting of the After Mid-night Karma Club," SJ said then paused. "If this is a political thing that you can't discussion, just tell me so, but otherwise..." 

"It's personal," he said quickly. 

"What did you do?" 

"Me?" he scoffed. "Why does it have to be me? Maybe someone else did something." 

"You just said it was personal," she countered. "Personal means it involves you, Josh. Do you need flashcards to help you understand?" 

"How is it you make it through security?" he sighed. "Look, don't think you're going to pry anything out of me. The second I tell you anything, you'll be on that phone to the Wicked Witch of the South and then...." 

"You mean Marilyn?" 

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Nothing is sacred with the two of you." 

"Oh, but _you_ are," SJ said dramatically. "Oh Joshua, we worship the quicksand you walk on. We spend our every waking moment thinking and talking about only you. In fact, I'm using my mystical powers right now to channel her telepathically so that she can partake in this discussion. Wait! Yes! Something's coming through.... Here it is... Oh, it's Marilyn. She says... She says.... You're a pompous, conceited, self-centered jackass who should seriously consider ending this love affair you have with yourself." 

"The wind out there is pretty fierce," he remarked. "Aren't you afraid a house might fall on you?" 

***************** 

"Leo… uh… Hi," Toby said tiredly as he located the Chief of Staff in his make-shift office just yards from the convention floor. 

It was nearing 3 a.m. and Toby figured he had put off the painful task long enough. Though not a procrastinator in anything other than serious discussions with his wife…. Ex-wife, he reminded himself while stifling a yawn. He had delayed this discussion as long as possible. Josh would be landing in DC soon. Leo could veto their plan with a simple phone call, but Toby's job was to insure that the call was never made. 

"What's wrong?" Leo asked, zeroing in on Toby's expression with the accuracy of a marksman. 

_This man never gets tired_, Toby thought as he mustered the energy necessary for the battle ahead. _ He's got more than 15 years on me and I'm the one whose dragging. He hasn't slept in probably 20 hours and the only way I know that is that his tie is not knotted tightly and his jacket looks slightly unpressed but it looks better than mind does when it comes back from the dry cleaner's._

"Toby?" Leo's voice was more stern this time. 

"Yeah, could we….," Toby gestured to the door. Leo nodded as Toby rose to close it then took a seat opposite the Chief of Staff's small desk. 

"What is it?" 

"So we had this talk earlier with Bruno," Toby began. "Josh and I did." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Toby sighed and ran his hands over his face. He took a deep breath and then clasped his hands together to focus. "It was about the reporter who called Josh." 

"What reporter?" 

"The L.A. reporter," Toby said. "She got a tip." 

"Toby," Leo said tersely. "This isn't Masterpiece Theater. I don't have time to wait for the second act. What are you getting at?" 

"The break-in," he said simply. "It was a thing." 

"The….?" Leo's confusion dissolved quickly. 

"Yeah, the office in California," Toby continued. "The doctor's office." 

"How bad?" Leo asked, sinking into his chair and suddenly feeling all the sleepless night's leading up to the convention. 

This was absolutely the worst time for this to happen. The national spotlight was theirs and theirs alone. The only thing that could ruin that would be something as awful as what was putting that dire look on Toby's face. 

"Not so bad," Toby said. 

"Not so bad?" Leo barked harshly. "Toby, you're the one who keeps saying we are not past this credibility issue. Now we're gonna knocked out of the headlines by a story that says our guy is seeing a…" 

"Yeah," Toby said, relenting a smile almost devious smile. "One of our guys." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Not our guy," Toby said. "One of our people." 

"I don't understand," Leo started then paused as he observe Toby's expression. The pieces fell into place quickly. "No! Oh, no. Tell me. Toby, tell me he didn't… Oh, what am I saying. Of course he did." 

"Say Leo," Toby said in a flat tone, "did you know that Josh has been seeing a psychiatrist?" 

"No," Leo replied aggressively. "This is not how we are doing it. " 

"It's done." 

"You know, it's stunts like this that make me wonder if he really is nuts," Leo said grabbing the phone on the corner of the desk and stabbing at the numbers to Josh's pager with twice the force necessary. "I'm not so sure about you, either." 

"Makes two of us," Toby said softly. 

"I want him here," Leo said dropping the phone back in it's cradle after the summons was sent. "Now!" 

"Can't," Toby shrugged. "He already left." 

"For?" 

"Washington," Toby said. "About three hours ago." 

"And I'm just hearing about this now?" Leo asked. 

"In all fairness to me," Toby said, "this is the first time I've spoken with you since it was decided." 

"Which of you idiots thought not including me in the discussion was wise?" 

"I'd argue the idiots characterization, except that it was Josh's call so, it was him," Toby said. "And I do agree with him. This has nothing to do with the administration. Not really." 

"Not really?" 

"It's a personal issue that has nothing to do with the campaign or the President and we saw no reason to involve anyone further," Toby said. "Whether he told you of his personal business as his superior is another story, but as far as regulations read, it doesn't appear he was under any obligation to do so." 

"Toby." 

"Leo, there was no other way," Toby explained. "They've got some juicy possibilities for a story. They've got records and you know how that goes." 

"Yeah," Leo sighed heavily and fell silent. 

"It had to be done," Toby said, arguing the case further as the lines in Leo's face grew deep and circles under his eyes appeared. "They have phone bills showing calls to the White House; they have financial statements showing flights to DC corresponding the timelines for those calls. We believe they even have a voucher for transport service to the White House from the hotel." 

"Yeah, but Toby, those all weren't…" 

"But they were," Toby replied. "They're all associated as costs incurred and billed in accordance with case file 01-BW-1010-AS." 

"And that is…" 

"That's Josh's file," Toby said. "People have information. It points to a patient…. A client, whatever they're called. " 

"But they don't know that," Leo argued. "They don't know who it is and that it isn't just one…" 

Leo stopped as the simplicity of the mitigation measure and spin control materialized before him. 

"They think it's just one person," Leo said softly. 

"Yeah," Toby agreed. "We're giving them his identity." 

He was no more used to the basics of the plan than Leo was though he'd had several hours to digest it. There was something unsettling to him about setting up a friend for a firestorm. That the individual knew it was coming, asked to be the one to face the storm, somehow didn't make it any easier. 

"It might not work," Leo said without conviction. "If someone thinks already that the 'client' is someone else…" 

"Why would they?" Toby said, posing the same question that Josh did when he won the argument with Toby. "He's the most likely and most believable candidate. And… Well, its true. The story will run and it will be accepted because it is true. None of it is made up or false. Look, they've got a few pieces right now. We're just going to run a two minute drill and speed things along. We're giving them pieces to fill in the gaps. Forty-eight hours after it breaks it will be collecting dust. Leo, if we don't leak this then it will catch us in a matter of weeks and it will sink us in November. That I guarantee." 

"What are you giving?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"The pieces," Leo asked. "What are the details of this ingenious plan you three stooges hatched by the light of the silvery moon?" 

"I prefer three amigos," Bruno Geonelli said as he opened the door from the hallway. "We've got more of a Latin flavor this far south." 

"Bruno, what the hell were you thinking?" Leo asked as Bruno closed the door and joined the two men around the desk. 

"That I like winning," the political strategist replied promptly. "That you like it as well. And, from what I've seen, so does the President. Josh likes winning. That's why he did this. No one forced him. It started as his idea." 

Leo leaned back in his chair and sighed forcefully again as he stared at the two men bathed in the anemic light of a fluorescent desk lamp. 

"Oh, I don't doubt it," the Chief of Staff said. "But, as a general rule, I don't give Josh's brilliant-after-midnight ideas a lot of thought until after sunrise or I have my first cup of coffee for the day—whichever occurs later. Know why? Because you'd be amazed at how often they cease to be brilliant in the reasonable light of day or a strong belt of caffeine." 

"I agree," Bruno nodded. "That's what makes this slipshod plan work so well. It stinks as far as evasion goes." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"It's insane to think it will work," Toby said. Leo glared at him. "I'm quoting Josh there." 

"It looks like a bad cover up," Leo replied, knowing now for certain how the plot was set to unfold. 

"Precisely," Bruno said, seeing that Leo was following along. "One man. One story. One problem: his. All of it is personal and none of it has anything to do with the candidate. Therefore, it is of little if any interest to the voters. We're all pieces on a chessboard here, Leo. Sometimes you sacrifice a piece." 

"Sacrifice?" Leo growled. "He made himself a target for something that is not his fault and is not something—considering what it is—that anyone should have to be a target for." 

"Yeah, but he's had experience," Bruno agreed, catching a stern and displeased stare from Leo. "I mean politically speaking, but… Yeah, like that, too." 

"What happens now?" Leo asked, resigned to the new reality of their strategy. 

"Nothing," Bruno said. "If this works, and unless people in Washington think it impossible that Josh Lyman was ever less than 100 percent emotionally stable…." 

"Not likely," Toby offered and received an acknowledging shrug and nod from Leo. 

"Then he endures about a day of questions and two days of whispering behind his back from people who would do it on a normal day anyway," Bruno summed up. "Then it's done. It's over. For him, for everyone." 

"I want to talk to him," Leo said. 

"He won't get hurt," Toby said. 

"Oh, I know," Leo replied in a flat tone. "Josh never gets hurt, just ask him." 

"That's why you want to talk to him," Toby surmised. "He's not answering your page. He thinks you'll try to talk him out of it." 

"Would it work?" 

"You wouldn't have to," Toby replied. "Josh will do anything you ask." 

"Leo, if you want this to go away, don't ask him to stop," Bruno said. 

"I won't," Leo said quickly, earning him a startled look from Toby. "Guys, you sold me. I just want to know that... I just want to talk to him." 

"I'll get him," Toby said. 

***************** 

"You don't get it," SJ said, stirring Josh from his attempt at sleep following a 40 minute Q&A about his travel that yielded her no results. "It's about you, Josh. You're my Aaron." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"From my book," she explained. "The one you say more than two people read. I wrote that character based on you. You're the guy who screws up, who falls down, who drops the ball or whatever and still finds redemption in the only place it matters--with himself. I know you're not there yet, but I've got hope for you. I have to; you talked me off a building once; I believe you can do it for yourself." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said dismissively. "And I'm trying to sleep." 

"No, you're not," she replied. "And you do know what I'm talking about." 

"You weren't going to actually jump." 

"I was," she recalled. "Josh, a jury had just convicted my father of killing my mother and two brothers by intentionally burning our house down when I was eight. Trust me. I had every intention of taking a walk into oblivion that night, but you stopped me. You told me about... Look, the point is, you coaxed me back from a personal abyss. If I thought I could do it for you, I would. But I can't. I think the only person who can do that for you is you. So I'm just telling you that it's past time you did it." 

"And again, with this nonsense," he shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation and the memories it conjured. 

He knew she would have jumped that night and at that time some part of him had been jealous; not of her dangerous frame of mind that night but of her conviction that she could do it. She impressed him further with her ability to change her mind and decide not to do it with equal furvor. 

"It's not nonsense just because it makes you uneasy," SJ said. "It's true and you don't like hearing it. Well, now it's my turn to talk to you: None of your friends are afraid of your demons. Know why? Because they're not real. None of them. Did you ever wonder what's going to happen when you realize that you've actually found peace with this past you regret? That you've forgiven yourself for being human and blameless? Josh, you're going to have to face the fact that the rest of your life is waiting for you and you're going to enjoy it. Damn! What a horrible thing for fate to do to a guy, you know." 

"Go away." 

"It's a tube, Josh," she pointed out. "Not a lot of places to go." 

"Look, just leave me alone," he said in a testy manner. "Something happened with Donna and... Just leave me alone." 

"Something bad?" 

He shrugged. He didn't know what to think of it. He certainly didn't stick around long enough afterward to find out what her thoughts truly were. And, now that he thought of it, leaving without a word of explanation looked exceptionally bad on his part. But there was the message on his pager and the reporter and.... 

"You're afraid," SJ said with some astonishment. "Finally! This has been a long time coming." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Josh, you come to these personal cliffs over and over again in your life--everyone does--but yours are so much higher," the writer explained solemnly. "You instinctively make them that way. And for all the anxiety they give you, you're never afraid because you don't let yourself fear things. Time to learn something, Mr. Fulbright Scholar: Fear is good--it's natural and healthy. You never let yourself feel that; while we're on the subject, you don't let yourself feel a lot of things. You think them through to distraction or you react to them so swiftly that you don't give yourself a chance to..." 

"You're not my psychiatrist," he interupted in a scoffing tone. "Trust me there." 

"No, but I'm one of your biggest fans," she said. "I'm telling you that it's time you stop surviving." 

"What?" 

"You've already done it," she explained. "You've survived; now it's time to move on and just live. Go apologize to Donna for whatever you did--and be honest with her about why you're sorry. I can see that whatever it is is just eating you up inside. Be honest with her and this thing will work itself out, whatever it is. Like I said, it's time for you to accept that you can be content with all the parts of your past that you despise and regret; they're history--your history. Let them go and move on to your future. Look at yourself objectively for a second, and I think you'll see you have more strength in what you preceive to be your moments of weakness than you give yourself credit for. In short, life is good, Josh. Live it." 

"Why does anyone think you can write?" he asked aggressively. "And how did you get a a degree in Philosophy from Harvard with that kind of thought process? Life is good--live it? What opium-smoking, alpha-wave-emitting, half-wit of a schizo-street prophet fed you that line?" 

"Okay, if you're gonna hit me with logic, I don't have time to chit-chat," she said after failing to find quick enough comeback. "Do you want my advice?" 

"Never," he said. 

"Tell Donna you're sorry," SJ offered as she leaned across the aisle to look squarely in his eyes. "But you're not, are you?" 

"I don't know what you mean," he said evasively. 

"You have some sort of regret about whatever it is you did, but you're not sorry," she surmised the kissed him quickly on the cheek; he blinked and stared back at her stone-faced. "That's the thought process that got me a degree. Oh, and it's in English. Philosophy was just my minor." 

"Okay," he nodded, feeling a chill shake through his bones because he knew she was right. 

***************** 

The day of the President's acceptance speech dawned. Leo had his conversation with Josh, who assured him of precisely what Leo feared: he knew what he was doing. Satisfied that his deputy was function on what passed for normal in his world, Leo set about dealing with the rest of the chaos involved in running the country and trying to keep the administration on track. It was after two o'clock when he received an unexpected visitor. 

"Leo, Anna Lyman is here to see you," Margaret said quietly. 

"I thought she left earlier," Leo asked without looking up from his stack of messages. 

"The weather canceled her flight this morning," Margaret replied. 

"Well, I'm kind of busy here," Leo said in an annoyed fashion. 

"I think you should see her," Margaret replied. 

"Fine," Leo said gruffly. "But I only have one minute, precisely that, not a second longer." 

Anna Lyman entered the room, holding her chin high and her back rigid. She eyed the room. The door to the adjoining room, doubtlessly the President's make-shift office for the morning, was slightly adjar. However, she was essentially alone with the Chief of Staff. 

"Sorry about your flight," he said warmly. "I don't control the weather, Anna." 

"I know very well what your capabilities are," she said sternly, her green eyes looking eyes and dangerous. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I wish you were," she said, standing before him. 

"What is this about?" 

Without answering, she slapped him soundly on the cheek. The snap of the blow filled the room as did the shock of Leo's face. 

"What the hell?" he exclaimed. 

"That's for lying to me," she said, her body quivering and the tears she had cried on her way to the hotel brimming again in her eyes. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You're a deceitful and selfish man," she snapped. "I trusted you. I won't make that mistake again. He pushes himself to his very breaking points and beyond for you, and all he gets in return is dispair and pain and," she paused to look at the President's door again, "insults. I loathe you--all of you." 

"What happened? What did Josh tell you?" 

"Nothing!" she said raising her voice as her rage grew. "I was stopped by a reporter in the lobby who asked me to confirm a story. Imagine my surprise to find out my son is about to be the poster child for mental illness in Washington; that he was so mentally tortured after Rossilyn that he tried to kill himself and has been seeing a therapist ever since. To say I was shocked, doesn't cover my reaction. After all, Joshua never mentioned it and just last night you told me.... You swore to me that nothing was wrong. Let me clarify something for you: This classifies as something wrong!" 

"Anna, it's not like that." 

"Don't tell me what it is and isn't," she snapped as she looked one more time toward the President's door. "I'm leaving now and you can tell _Mr_. Bartlet that, with all due disrespect, he does not have my vote--and I will tell that and my reasons to anyone I please." 

"No, Anna," Leo sighed. "Don't go like this. Hear me out." 

"No, I don't think I will, and that's Mrs. Lyman to you," she said striding purposefully toward the door. "Goodbye, Mr. McGarry." 

*************** 

Josh spent the day as planned in Washington and Baltimore. All the pieces fell into place. All the right eyes saw what they should. All the piece of evidence framing him as the White House lunatic had been delivered and read and his meeting with Stanley observed by the necessary eyes. Stanley wasn't pleased when Josh broke the news to him, but in the end, he had little choice.He retreated, finally, to his office by the early evening and watched convention coverage. He watched the speech alone with his door closed. He knew every line of the President's speech and was still awestruck at how the man could make the words have life of their own. 

When it ended, Josh grabbed his jacket and backpack after flipping off the TV. The President's speech had blown the roof off the convention center. He could hear the assistants and secretary's applauding down the hallway as he made his way to the security desk. His work was over. 

The staff would be returning in a few hours after all the post game wrap up was done in Miami. He wouldn't see them for several days, though. He was to go to Illinois then Arizona on Leo's behalf for the next week--a strategic political retreat. He would then be making a swing through California on some assignments that were needed to balance efforts the rest of the staff would be making on the east coast. 

He arrived at the security desk near the north lobby and prepared to go home and pack. 

"Mr. Lyman," the officer at the desk greeted him. 

"Good night, Steve," Josh said as he turned to punch out. 

"Uh, Mr. Lyman," he said again. "I just tried to call your office. You have a visitor." 

Josh turned to see his mother sitting in a visitor's chair, looking at him with a pain in her eyes he had hoped to never see again. 

***************** The applause was thunderous and was drown only by the thousands of voices chanting "Bartlet, Bartlet!" and "Four more years!" Though not an egomanic by nature, the President revelled in the spectacle his acceptance speech created. He felt more energized than he had in weeks. This was the life's blood of campaigning--the pure, unadulterated dose of adrenelin main-lining into his system, direct from his most devout followers. He remained on the stage for nearly half and hour after the sea of ballons cascaded down from the rafters. Then, much to the chagrin of his protection detail, he stepped off the stage and into the crowd to shake hands and greet his audience. 

When they finally hussled him into hte seure back room, the staff was gathered for the expected post-speech peptalk and thank you. They would be fanning out to the various news outlets momentarily to thrust the evening's success further along so that by morning, the polls would skyrocket, leaving Gov. Robert Ritchie looking like a speck of dust on the political landscape. 

Bartlet survyed his troups. His euphoria was evident on their faces as well, though he noted Sam Seaborn seemed to be levitating less than his boss. The President accepted their applause as well and was able to silence them more easily than the masses still raging on the convention floor. 

"Thank you," Bartlet said, raising his hands to instill some calm. "Thank you all so very much for you hardwork, your dedication and all the friends you talked into coming to this party." 

They laughed, as he knew they would. The buzzing in his head and hands from the excitment was leveling off, like a fantasy fading slowly into the mists of imagination. 

"I try to say it as often as I can, though I know that even then it is not often enough," he began. "We talk a lot about our team. but this is more than a team, much, much more than that. We are a band of brothers and sisters; we are a family. So I thank you all for being members of my family. I was just thinking as I walked in here how nights like this are like a dream. I wanted to quote you something, something from Shakespeare's Midsummer's Night Dream, except that I am so overcome with pride with all you have helped accomplish that I can't think of a single phrase outside of 'The lunatic, the lover and the poet.' That might in fact be appropriate. Look to your left and right. If you see someone who doesn't fit that description, tell Leo and he'll have the person reassigned. Perhaps I should have asked Toby and Sam to write me a few words to say here, but after those magnificent words they penned for me, I think they might have earned themselves a few moments rest. So, let me end where I began by offering you one more, simple yet sincere expression of my gratitude. Thank you all." 

Following the final round of applause, the team disbursed to their assignments. Leo steered the President to the office down the hall. The speech had gone well, better than their high expectations even. Early polling numbers were nearly 10 agregate points higher than previously predicted. It was a good night and it gave Leo his first chance to smile in nearly 20 hours. 

"Leo?" Bartlet asked, mentally scolding Abbey for taking the pack of cigarettes he had stashed in the drawer of the desk in the small room. 

"Yes, sir?" Leo replied, tugging his attention back to the ground. 

"Is something going on?" 

"A lot," Leo said confidently. "What in particular? Abbey's with Rhonda Chase of the Miami Herald right now and yes, she took your cigarettes." 

"I know she did," Bartlet replied, taking the one from one of his Secret Service Agents that he had arranged earlier. "I mean elsewhere. I overheard a conversation when CJ hussled me away from some reporters. Something about a burglary. Did an office get broken into?" 

"Not here," Leo said. "It was in California." 

"A Democratic Committee office?" Bartlet replied. "It didn't suddenly become 1972, did it?" 

"We've taken steps so assure it hasn't," Leo answered, recalling Josh's similar allusion days earlier to the Watergate break in. 

"What office?" 

"It was a doctor's office," Leo said simply then nodded at the President comprehended. "I wouldn't concern yourself with it, sir. Bruno and Josh took care of it." 

The President glared at Leo. 

"It's fine, sir," Leo assured him. "Taken care of." 

"Sam's not going to Cincinati?" Bartlet asked suddenly, changing topics before the less than pleasant thoughts ruined his adrenlin high and well-earned cigarette. 

"No," Leo agreed. 

"Why?" 

"His mother is having surgery." 

"They think it's breast cancer?" Bartlet asked solenmly. 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "His father told him this afternoon. That's why she didn't come." 

"How's Sam holding up?" 

"Good as can be expected," Leo said. "Knocked the kid for a loop, but he took it on the chin and stayed standing." 

"Okay." 

"We made some arrangements so he can be there when she has the surgery," Leo continued. "He's swapping schedules with Josh. Sam's going to California now." 

"So Josh is going to Cincinati?" the President asked, a touch of acid in his tone. 

"No," Leo replied. 

"Why?" 

"We need him to be elsewhere for a few days," Leo said. 

"Where?" Bartlet inquired. "Leo, is this about what happened the other night? Now, I've met his mother and you're not her so I'm left to wonder why you feel the need to step in and..." 

"Sir," Leo interupted feeling frazzled. "Can I ask what it is that he did that pissed you off so much? I'm really having a hard time getting my hands around this one." 

"You are?" Bartlet mocked. "You mean what did he do other than the bi-weekly screw-ups out of his office that have allowed Ritchie's camp to pull almost even with me in the polls?" 

"Frankly, yeah," Leo said firmly. 

"I don't know," Bartlet admitted after a moment's pause. "Where is he? I didn't see him at all today or this evening and it looks like Donna is working for CJ now." 

"CJ needed some senior level help," Leo informed the President. "Carol's down with a stomach thing from some seafood." 

"You avoided my question," Bartlet insisted. "Where is Josh?" 

He sounded like the Bartlet of old in regard to the Deputy Chief of Staff. Leo believed the President's current and recurrent ire with Josh was not a personal vendetta or even a loss of respect. He didn't know what it was for certain, but he knew the President had great respect and affection for the at times caustic political marksman Leo dubbed his lieutenant. The recent alienation between both of them had arisen more suddenly than the storm said to be brewing off the coast at that moment. 

"He's back in Washington, sir," Leo replied. "For now." 

"For now?" Bartlet snapped, his hackles up again. "Leo, what the hell is going on?" 

*********************************8   
Toby stared back at his colleagues, surveying their expressions. They ranged from mildly curious (Ed) to furious yet worried (CJ). He had called a select group of the staff together to brief them on the matter occurring in Washington, on the off chance one was hit with a question in their upcoming interviews. 

"So, there's a thing happening," Toby said plainly. "You need to know in case you get asked, but it doesn't pertain to the campaign or our daily business." 

"Then why would we be asked," Ed inquired. 

"Because reporters are freaky like that," Sam replied. He was as curious as the rest of them as to the topic of this impromtu meeting. 

"Yeah," Toby agreed. "There was a story two days ago in The New Republic and American National and one or two other papers...." 

"Those aren't papers," Sam said. "They're ultra-rightwing, inflamatory propaganda vehicles that rail against the dangerous liberal moral code of the country while stretching their First Amendment rights to an almost fatal capacity." 

"Thank you," Toby silenced him sarcastically. "None of us were aware of that since we're all such staunch subscribers. My point is that they've run a story recently suggesting that the White House has turned into the national loony bin--or something to that effect. The story was based upon alleged files leaked to them about someone being under psychiatric care." 

"Please, no," CJ said shaking her head. 

"Sorry, yes," Toby said. "There were rumors that it wasn't some shmoe just answering phones and that got the interest of the LA Times." 

"Josh left last night, didn't he?" Sam asked. "We haven't seen him because he's not even in Miami, is he?" 

"No," Toby said. "He went back to DC. He had a meeting with Dr. Stanley Keyworth. Apparently someone saw him. By itself it means nothing except that Dr. Keyworth's office was burglarized recently and patient files were compromised. There is convincing evidence that Dr. Keyworth has met with Josh on several occaisions in Washington--twice in the White House." 

"Can we trust Dr. Keyworth?" CJ asked then answered her own question. "I suppose not since we're having this discussion." 

"Actually, we can," Toby said, making momentary eye contact with Sam whose expression said he understood what was really happening. CJ, both knew, couldn't be told. She was too close to the press and needed margins of ignorance to protect her from being human. "But that doesn't matter any more. Josh got the question around six o'clock this evening. He answered it. The story tomorrow will reveal that he was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder following the events at Rosslyn, Virginia. Experts in the field of psychiatry are best equipt to deal with what that means, but for us it means he's Josh Lyman and he's a survivor and doing his job effectively and professionally and the administration saw no reason to make any changes regarding that." 

The staff fell silent, each letting Toby's news settle. Some knew for certain of Dr. Keyworth's visit the Christmas following the shooting. Others heard rumors. Some were vaguely aware the shooting had an aftermath for him that lingered longer than the stitches had. None in the room knew of the diagnosis; they knew something had been wrong and that it had righted itself, but there had never been a label put on it. 

"It's career suicide," Larry offered. "Isn't it?" 

"No, killing the Majority Leader would be career suicide," CJ stated. 

"We might be able to get more milage out of that," Sam offered. The fixed stares that followed forced him to shrug. "I just meant that... I'll shut up now." 

"What does Leo say?" CJ asked. 

"He thinks Josh is nuts," Toby replied. "But he's thought that for years so for us it's business as usual. We give Josh our support and seriously question the use of private, stolen files used in an effort to assault a man responsible for ushering in legislation like the Family Health and Wellness Act and three strong gun control measures credited with saving the lives of thousands of police officers and children." 

Ed chuckled quietly but drew the attention of all in the room. He blushed slightly then provided an explanation. 

"It's just... well, the President spoke about civic duty tonight," Ed said. "Josh has got to be the only person that.... Well, from what Toby said, his civic duty today was to go forth and talk about his mental breakdown." 

"Josh told me about an hour ago that it went well," Toby said. 

"He said that?" Sam asked. 

"Actually, his exact words were," Toby paused to recall them then quoted. "'I'm good at this. My agent thinks I could win an Emmy if I catch the performance on tape.' Bruno examined what has happened and we both agree that this won't hurt us at all--or Josh. Not in the long run." 

The staff was then dismissed, except CJ. Toby had one more assignment for her. After the interviews were done, he wanted her to break the news to Donna. 

************************* "Oh, that's brilliant," Bartlet seethed after hearing Leo's explanation of Josh's absence. "You know, I've often thought what this administration needed was a marytr!" 

"Mr. President, that's not what he's doing," Leo insisted. 

"Oh no?" Bartlet said. "This is his job? Leo, I'm not afraid of this. You once said I would lift houses off the ground. Now, I'm no physicist nor do I have delusions of grandeur, but what happened out there tonight was pretty damn close to that. We can let the truth be known. I've realized that. I did what thousands and thousands of Americans do every day; I needed to talk to someone and I sought the ear of a professional." 

"I didn't say you were afraid," Leo replied. "But I remind you that you are not like thousands and thousands of Americans, Mr. President." 

"Well, that's a ringing endorsement for me," Bartlet quipped. 

"Sir," Leo began. "Your opponents would use this to crucify you and burn you off the ballot completely." 

"And you and Deputy Do-Right think you've ended that possibility," Bartlet asked increduously. "I mean, he's done some stupid things, but this... And you, allowing it! This, Leo, this takes an exceptionally deluded person to...." 

"Mr. President, I agree with him," Leo interupted. "So do Toby and Bruno." 

"Why?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Why is he doing this?" Bartlet asked. "If you wanted to set up someone as a beard, you could have pawned it off on any number of people this would impact less. Why him?" 

"Because it's true and it's believable," Leo responded, using Toby's arguement. 

"You can do better than that," Bartlet noted. "Leo, this is not the kind of fall that is smooth and leaves no marks. This is one that stays with you; it leaves scars." 

"He's got others so these will fit in just fine," Leo quipped. 

"Leo." 

"Because it's his job, Mr. President," Leo answered. "Jos was raised by a man who believed in fidelity, duty and integrity all meant the same thing: Do your job. Josh has never forgotten that. It serves him well, so when things like this happen, this is what he does. The Secret Service protects you from real bullets. The staff takes care of this kind." 

Bartlet let the words hang on the air; the hum from the convention floor could still be heard echoing down the hallway. He looked at the Chief of Staff then stubbed out his cigarette. 

"I have no use for martyrs," Bartlet said again. "This doesn't make up for all the mistakes. Is this some ploy to get back in my good graces by a grand gesture of falling on a sword? Does he think that this will please me?" 

"I don't think he cares whether it pleases you or not," Leo said firmly. "It's not his motivation." 

"Then what is?" Bartlet asked quickly. "I sure as hell can't figure that out. Why do this?" 

"To get you re-elected, sir." 

**************** 

Anna Lyman accompanied her son back to his apartment without saying a word. He did not ask her any questions during the short drive to Georgetown. He knew why she was there. He knew what he had to tell her. He sat in the chair opposite her place on the couch and stared at his hands for a moment, mustering the resolve to explain to her why he had not told her any of this part of his life previously. 

"So, now you know," he started. 

"Joshua..." 

"Mom, it's not what you think," Josh replied with a sigh. "What you may have heard so far is mostly true, but it's over. The only reason it's out now is.... It's... it's business." 

"I know," she said tightly. 

"What?" he responded startled. "What do you mean?" 

"I know the whole story," Anna said. "At least, everything about you. I spoke to Toby Ziegler earlier this evening. He explained some things." 

"What did he say?" 

"That you stepped in front of a political bullet and that it wouldn't really hurt you and that you knew what you were doing," Anna answered. "I don't understand what most of that means, but I believe him." 

Josh nodded. He wasn't sure what Toby had told her for specifics, but he was grateful regardless. The more radical right-wing media outlets were running the picture of himself meeting with trauma psychologist Dr. Stanley Keyworth the previous day. No one was asking any more questions about why the doctor was brought into the White House several times--once at night even--and why his telephone records showed calls to the White House. Stanley was not pleased after learning his urgent meeting with Josh had been a setup to get caught on film, but that did not stop him from acting in his official capacity when he noted Josh was not entirely at ease mentally. If he found the discussion about the incident in Miami confusing, that was to be expected because Josh himself didn't understand it. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Josh apologized. 

"You can make it up to me," his mother offered. 

"How?" 

"Never do it again," she said in a shakey fashion. "And feed an old woman, Joshua. You must know every place in this town open this late that delivers. I haven't eaten since breakfast." 

***************** The polls following the convention shot the President's numbers into the stratosphere. The buzz about the slightly off kilter staffer died down quickly as the GOP got it's whack at the American public's attention. Two weeks after that convention, Bartlet was running only slightly ahead of Ritchie. The race was essentially still a dead heat. 

The staff fanned out across the country on various endeavors. To cover Sam's load, Josh took a trip to New York then went on to Boston where he expected meet Toby. They were to go to Manchester, New Hampshire to talk with organizers then move on to Vermont to meet with the governor and complete the swing through New England. However, nothing being equal or on-course, Toby was delayed in Rhode Island. What Josh found instead in Boston, was Donna. 

He had not expected to see her and shuddered--almost visibly--when he did. They had avoided talking directly to each other in the time following that night in Miami--at least, he had. It had been easy, too. She had remained in Miami with much of the staff while he took off for Illinois as planned. He then was sent on several short trips that kept him out of Washington. Their contact had been only in brief emails requesting work related information and messages left on voicemail. Outside the office block in Boston was the first time he had set eyes on her since departing her room in Florida. 

The conversation was stiled and resulted in her offering to drive from Boston to Manchester. They ended up leaving the port city later than expected due to the lateness of Josh's meeting; she wasn't pleased to learn there was a storm system forecasted for the upper parts of New England. Her displeasure deepened when he requested that she drive so that he could read some correspondance and memos to get a jump on the next day's work load. 

She agreed for she had no other choice. She didn't favor a cold, quiet drive into the country, but accepted it all the same. She followed the direction she gave him as best she could, but upon looking at the clock and the ever-darkening skies, she realized that they were off track. 

"Josh," she said, pulling over to the side of a secondary road. "We're lost." 

"Can't be," he said, looking up for the first time in more than two hours. 

"We are," she said. "We should be there by now and we're not. It's getting dark and the wind is blowing and... Great. Now it's starting to pour." 

"Donna," Josh remarked as he looked out the windows. "This is not where we want to be!" 

"No kidding," she mocked. 

"Where the hell are we?" 

"That's my point," she said. "I don't know." 

He questioned her on whether she had followed the directions. After several moments of shouting, she traced the route for him on the map with her finger. It was then that the exit she believe she took fell off the map. It wasn't a pen mark after all, but a breadcrumb. They hastily switched seats, getting wet in downpour as they did so. Josh backtracked several miles then turned around again. 

"What are you doing?" she demanded. 

"Finding a place to sleep." 

"In the forest?" she asked. "You were never a boyscout." 

"We're in Vermont," he said firmly. 

"We're lost." 

"No, we're just not where we should be," he said. "We're not going to make it to Manchester in this." 

They continued driving in silence for another half hour. Finally, Josh whipped the car around several hairpin turns, arriving at a nearly invisible turn off that yielded a dirt road leading to a rustic hideaway in the Green Mountains. As they slowed down, Josh explained they had ended up in the Mad River Valley, and area he knew. The rain that had followed them from Boston had turned into half-dollar droplets and nearly obscured the building they arrived at. 

"Are they open?" Donna asked, spying only dim lights in the small cabin with the battered wooden sign announcing it was the OFFICE. 

"They never close," he assured her and climbed out of the car. 

Donna waited in the car alone for several moments. Rationalizing that Josh might forget to get her a room if she wasn't there, Donna followed to discover Josh speaking with a desk clerk. 

"I just talked with Mrs. Deavers," the young woman said as Donna entered. 

"You mean Elise," Josh corrected the sprite of a clerk. 

"Yes. Sorry," she apologized. "She said I am to give you the royal treatment. The only thing is…um…I just rented out a cabin this afternoon. That means there is only one vacant tonight. Is that all right with you?" 

"One?" Donna asked, her voice rising slightly. "You only have one left?" 

"I'm sorry ma'am," the clerk apologized again. "We're not normally this busy in the middle of the week. Thankfully, it's been a good summer. However, this cabin is a double. It has double beds, a private bath and a kitchenette." 

Beds?" she sighed in relief. "Yes. It certainly helps. What time is breakfast?" 

"Tomorrow is Friday so we only do brunch," the clerk informed Donna as she pulled up the information on the computer screen. "That is served at 10:30." 

Josh turned toward Donna. "We've got the governor at nine, don't we?" 

"Yes," she said as the thunder rumbled. "I'm guessing there isn't a coffee shop around the corner. What are we going to do for breakfast? Go out into the forest and forge for berries? 

"You could grab a few things out of the kitchen," the clerk offered. "Mrs. Deavers said the royal treatment for Mr. Lyman. Would that help?" 

"Yes, it would, thank you," Donna replied then turned to Josh. "Pay for the room while I go get food, okay?" 

"Sure," he replied as he pulled out his wallet. "You okay with this?" 

"I have a choice?" she snipped. 

"No, but I thought I'd ask," he retorted and slapped the credit card on the desk. "We could try and make it to Montpelier tonight. It would be slow going, but if you'd feel better…." 

"Mr. Lyman," the clerk interrupted, "I wouldn't try it. This is called the Mad River Valley for several reasons - one of them being the crazy weather that we're experiencing. It's dangerous to go over the mountain in weather like this." 

"Well, I guess we're staying," Donna said as a streak of lightning raced across the mountain sky. 

"At least the power's still on," Josh shrugged. Suddenly, a loud pop occurred followed by black. 

"I stand corrected," he said. 

"Miss?" the clerk said as she flicked on a battery-powered lantern to illuminate the room. "I'll show you to the kitchen. We can take care of the bill tomorrow." 

The clerk handed Josh a flashlight as he took the keys from Donna. "I'll be in the car." 

Donna and the clerk began to head towards the kitchen when the clerk stopped. "Mr. Lyman, the cabin is the last on one the left – about half a mile down the lane. It's number 17." 

Josh nodded his understanding and bolted for the car. Donna carefully maneuvered her way towards the kitchen with the clerk. She gathered the food and ran towards the running vehicle. Josh exited the car and helped her load the groceries into the trunk. They made the way down the long road in silence. 

Josh pulled into the parking spot at Cabin 17. He helped Donna unload the groceries and luggage onto the porch. He flipped on the flashlight and opened the door. Donna took the lantern that the clerk had given her and proceeded to place candles around the cabin. 

"I'm gonna go change," Donna said as she made her way to the bathroom. 

"Sure, " Josh said, squinting in the direction of her voice. 

Josh lit several of the candles Donna had placed around the fireplace. As he did so, he let the thoughts he kept pushing away since he departed Miami seep to the front of his mind. They had not see each other the week following the President's speech--communicating through email and phone messages as he was sent into strategic exile by Leo by traveling to Chicago while the President was in Cincinati. Seeing her arrive in Boston unexpectedly drew opposing feelings in him. He was glad to see her and didn't think he could spend a single moment with her in private. But they had managed. The conversations were strained and uncomfortable for both, he knew. Now, this arrangement for the evening... 

Regret. It was a feeling he knew better than any other. He knew if life as he knew it with Donna, that safe if at times confusing dance he did with Donna in their working lives, was over. 

"I was hungry so I got stuff for sandwiches, too," Donna stated, breaking Josh's thought. She was clad in a tank and pajama bottoms and her hair was twisted up in a towel. 

"Fine with me," he replied, trying not looking at her. He grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom. "I'm drenched. Would you see if my cell works and tell Leo what's going on?" 

Donna reached for the phone, stealing a quick glance at his retreating figure. "Sure." 

"We have to be out of her by 7:00 tomorrow," Josh said as he exited the bathroom wearing boxers and a t-shirt. "Usually, I wake up without an alarm, but that's normally because Leo is paging or calling. You wouldn't happen to have a travel alarm clock in your bag would you?" 

"Yeah," she replied quickly. "It's in my red bag. I couldn't get through to Leo but I left a message with Bonnie to tell him what's going on. At least, I think I did. The reception is bad; we got cut off and I think your battery is low." 

"So…no phone, no lights and no television," he said. "This'll be fun." 

"Yeah," she yelped as a loud clap of thunder, followed by a quick lightning strike hit somewhere outside the cabin. 

"Hey, it's okay," Josh assured her. "It's only a storm. The thunder sounds louder simply because of where we are in the valley." 

"I don't care," Donna shot back as she began to prepare the sandwiches. "I'd prefer never having storms. Turkey all right?" 

"Fine," he answered. "Are you all right?" 

"Sure," she said shortly as she slapped the sandwiches together. 

Josh looked at her tense expression and felt a new wave of guilt. He found himself apologizing. 

"I'm sorry things happened," Josh said sincerely. "I didn't plan on it." 

"Well, if you had paid attention to the road…" 

"I wasn't the one driving," Josh shot back. "You offered. I was reading." 

"And if we had left when I wanted to," Donna continued, "we'd have missed the storm entirely." 

Josh glared at her. "And if you'd followed the directions instead of a bread crumb from your meal, we'd be at the hotel in New Hampshire not in the middle of the woods in Vermont." 

"Who could follow those directions?" 

"I could." 

"Then you should have driven," Donna said. 

"I was a little busy catching up on the three thousand things I missed while out of the office," Josh began. "It's a good thing I did some of the work in the car because right now reading is next to impossible." 

"Dinner's served," Donna replied as she flung Josh his plate. The plate went sailing across the table then slid into the wall. The sandwich slid down the wall and rested in a gooey pile on the floor, along with the shards of plate. 

Josh looked at his dinner for a moment and then turned to Donna. 

"So…turkeys can fly?" he remarked. 

In the silence that followed, Donna could not keep her face straight. The stress was too much. She found herself breaking into chuckles. 

"Guess the President missed this one in his annual pardon," Donna said lightly. 

"Don't tell the turkey lobby," Josh added. "They'd send representatives to the White House and Leo would make me meet with them on Big Block of Cheese Day." 

"If they got unruly, the Secret Service agents could get in some target practice," Donna smiled. "They could win a turkey dinner if they got one.". 

"GAO might want to catalogue it and somehow the GOP would find a way to paint us as being anti-foul," Josh sighed. "I can see it now, Governor Rob Ritchie standing in a field surrounded by turkeys, quoting that great American statesman _Oliver_ Franklin, about how they should be a national symbol." 

Donna buried her face in her hands and laughed quitely for a moment. 

"I miss this," Josh sighed. 

"Miss what?" 

"This," he replied. "You know, not being…afraid to talk to each other. I miss it." 

"I've missed it, too," she admitted. 

Josh sat down at the table. "Can we…be us again? Or is that asking too much? If it is, I understand." 

"You mean the tiptoeing around each other isn't appealing to you?" Donna asked, joining him at the table. 

"I'm real good at tiptoeing, if you hadn't noticed," Josh remarked as he grabbed half of Donna's sandwich. "Some people even think I enjoy being the center of attention." 

"No…" Donna gasped, feigning shock at his revelation. "Did I say you could take half my sandwich?" 

"Do you think I care?" Josh said, taking a bite. "I'm just following your lead." 

They finished eating in silence, but it was not as cold of a quiet as it had been previously. Josh eventually rose from his chair and headed for the sleeping area. 

"Which one of these do you want?" he asked sitting on the double bed to the left. "This one of the one closer to the window?" 

"That one," she responded, pointing to the one Josh was sitting on. 

"Okay," he yawned, looking at his watch in the flicker of the candlelight. "It's not even 10pm. How can I possibly be tired?" 

Lightning raced across the valley, illuminating the cabin. Josh cast his eyes toward the ceiling. 

"If that wind gets any stronger it'll take the roof off," he observed. 

"Don't say that," Donna said as she moved toward her bed. 

"I'm kidding," he relented. "These cabins are fifty years old at least. The roof is actually slate so it's not going anywhere." 

"Fifty?" Donna asked as she took the towel off her head and pulled down the covers. "How do you know this place?" 

"My father did some work for Elise's first husband and the result was they bought this place," Josh replied moving to his bed. "We came up here once in a while when I was a kid so Dad could take care of some legal things for Elise." 

"Did you enjoy it up here?" 

"Depended upon the time of the year," Josh began crawling in bed. "My mother hated coming here in the spring. Mud season, they call it. And when my mother wasn't happy.... well, a fun time could be had by no one." 

"Stop that," Donna scolded. "Your mother's a saint and one of the sweetest people I've ever met." 

"Yeah," Josh agreed. "I guess it was fun here. There wasn't much to do, but it was the only time I got to see my Dad just about around the clock so it was great." 

"How old were you when you came here?" Donna asked, attempting to sound nonchalant. However, Josh read the evasion in her question. 

"It was after the fire," he replied in a bored tone. "I was the only one by then. We should get some sleep. It's been a long… uh… summer." 

"Yeah," she sighed, crawling in her bed and turning off the lantern. "Night." 

An hour passed and the storm grew in intensity. The shrieking of the wind stirred Donna out of her slumber. She tried to not to focus on the noise and found this easy as the rains began in earnest outside and inside. Donna suddenly began to be pelted with raindrops from the leaking roof. She huffed, turned on the flashlight, threw the covers off the bed and shuffled the short distance to Josh's bed. 

"Josh…" Donna said as she tapped his shoulder. 

The reply, something sounding like a curse, came as a muffled, sleepy groan. 

"I want to get in your bed," she said simply. 

"Uh huh," he replied, and then sat straight up a second later as the words and voice registered in his sleep-clouded brain. "I'm sorry?" 

"The roof is leaking on my bed," she explained. "It's soaked and I can't sleep in it. So I need your bed." 

"Your hair is wet," Josh observed. 

"They don't just give those Fulbright's away, do they?" Donna deadpanned. "I said the roof is leaking over my bed." 

"Well, you chose it," he remarked. "So I guess it's still raining?" 

"Yes." 

"You could sleep on the floor," he suggested. 

"Or you could act like a gentleman and sleep on the floor," she replied. 

"I don't want to sleep on the floor," he said. 

"And I do?" 

"You might," he said. 

"Josh," Donna scowled. "Stop. This isn't funny." 

"I suppose not," he smirked. 

"Move over," Donna ordered as she pulled back the covers and started to claim a spot for herself on the mattress. 

"Hey!" 

"I won't bite," she said and claimed a small spot, extremely close to the edge. 

Josh observed her in the scarce light the raging storm. She was shivering; her hair was damp around her face. Rather than argue further, he relented. 

"You're gonna fall out of the bed if you sleep on the edge like that," Josh commented. "I promise that I won't… uh… invade your space." 

"Okay," Donna agreed moving away from the edge slightly. "Same goes for me." 

"Good," he nodded and prepared to lay down, but then stopped and propped himself up on his elbow. "Wait. What? What do you mean by same goes for you?" 

"I meant that I won't invade your space either," Donna responded. "I know what you meant and I wanted to let you know that you don't need to worry about me... you know.... You're safe." 

"I'm really not worried about it," Josh said. 

"You're not?" she asked. "I mean, the last time I was.... I was too forward and I... you know." 

"What?" he remarked increduously. "You think... You cannot be serious. Donna, that was… not your fault, okay?" 

"Of course it was!" Donna said. The total silence between about that night in Miami had finally been broken. Nothing could stop her. "Josh, I seduced you. You came in to tell me that everything was okay after what I said to the President and the next thing you know… I... I used my feminine charms and seduced you into my bed." 

"Your feminine charms?" he smirked with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell are those?" 

"You know what they are," she offered. "You couldn't resist me; I hooked you and reeled you in." 

"You think you seduced me?" Josh laughed. 

"Hey!" Donna said, smacking Josh on his arm. "I seduced you." 

"Oh, you know it. Okay. Sure. Whatever, Donna." 

"Something happened between us that night," she said unnecessarily. 

"I'm not saying nothing happened," he replied. "I'm just saying you weren't the one who did anything. It wasn't you. That's what I'm saying." 

"You think you seduced me?" Donna chortled. "Right." 

"Oh God, we aren't actually arguing about this are we?" Josh said amazed. "I thought we'd mutally argeed..." 

"We never spoke about it." 

"Right, and by mutual silence, we were agreeing that we'd never speak of it," Josh said. 

"Well, obviously we need to talk about it if only to correct your interpretation of the events," Donna explained. "So, I think we should set the record straight." 

"Donna," Josh said in a lowered voice as he leaned toward her. "Look, what happened…happened. It shouldn't have – and I'm sorry. I've been wracking my brain to figure out how to... fix things and.... I don't know what to do." 

"Well, you can start by giving me the credit I deserve," Donna said simply. 

"What are you...." 

"I seduced you," she said firmly. "And why are you sorry? What actually was wrong? Look, we slept together." 

"I recall," he replied quietly in a sullen tone. "It was wrong." 

"Why?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Why was it wrong?" Donna asked. "I seduced you, and--not to toot my own horn here--but I think you enjoyed it." 

"That's not the point," he seethed in an exapserated voice. "Donna, we work together. I'm your boss." 

"Not that night," Donna explained. "You were more like my prisoner, my hostage." 

"I am your boss," Josh argued. "Hostage? What the hell..." 

I wouldn't seduce my boss," she asserted. 

"Oh god, can we drop this?" Josh beseeched. 

"No," she said. "Josh, stop feeling guilty over something that wasn't your fault. It wasn't wrong. You didn't force me to do anything, and I don't think I forced you--though I gotta say, you didn't stand much of a chance." 

"And you call me conceited..." 

"No, I call you arrogant," she corrected him. 

"Donna, you know all the reasons that what happened shouldn't have," Josh argued. "You know what kind of problems it could create – has created already. Look at how we've been avoiding each other recently. Miami was a mistake--regardless of who seduced whom--and it was me seducing you, for the record.." 

"Okay, the record is wrong," Donna offered. "And the fact remains that what happened between us was not. Was anybody aware of what… transpired? Other than you being afraid to talk to me for a the last week, nothing changed." 

"Everything changed," Josh said. 

"No, you just think it did," Donna said. "Which is wrong. Just like your perception of who seduced who." 

"Whom," Josh corrected. 

"Yeah, and it was me," she retorted. 

"It was wrong, Donna," Josh repeated. "You were upset for what you said at that meeting. I was in a position where I should have… have... It was wrong. Okay. That's that. Nothing else matters." 

"I've been upset plenty of times and you never…" she sighed. "Josh, this thing was bound to happen anyway." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"It was inevitable," Donna clarified. "We were on a collision course." 

"No," he said. "Donna, my life is about my work. Work being the magic word there. I don't…relationships never work because my job always, always, always comes first. I cost Amy her job because of my line of work. That's why it's more important to me than anything else." 

"And work matters to me as well," Donna affirmed. "But I'm not looking for any type of relationship here." 

"You're…you're not?" Josh asked, stunned to be hearing those words. 

"No," she scoffed. "Whatever gave you that idea?" 

"I don't know," he said shaking his head. "Women don't usually say that. So…what are you saying?" 

"I'm saying that this is just an…extension of our working relationship," Donna smiled. 

"Sex on the road is part of your job description?" Josh asked. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's illegal." 

"What I'm saying is…in the office is in the office and out of the office is…" 

"You mean," Josh concluded, "you're suggesting that, and if I'm getting this wrong I apologize, but you're suggesting that we have a non-relationship, casual sex thing when the time permits, no obligations or commitment?" 

"Exactly," Donna nodded in agreement. 

"You've got to be kidding," Josh said bewildered. "Women do not suggest this kind of thing." 

"I'm a 21st century kind of gal, Josh," Donna announced proudly. 

"This isn't happening." 

"Why?" 

"Because this kind of thing never happens to anyone, least of all me," Josh explained. "I mean, it's every man's dream come true, so therefore it'll never work." 

"Never know until you try," Donna suggested. 

"I didn't say I wasn't interested," he corrected her. "I'm a politician--a Democrat at that. Imminent failure is not always an effective deterrent." 

"Well, I'm an optimist," she declared. "This'll work." 

"No," Josh sighed laying back down. "This is crazy! We're not doing this. It won't work." 

"Never thought you to give up so easily," Donna observed. 

"We are in the middle of a Presidential campaign," Josh reminded her. "I'm not doing anything to further weaken our chances. I've done enough already. I just had my private life paraded out for everyone to read and dissect. The last thing I need is to start that news cycle from hell over again about an affair with my assistant on the government's dime." 

"I'm not charging you and the government has to pay for us when we travel anyway so it's not a fraud issue," Donna offered. 

"You can't be serious," Josh groaned. "This is…it's flirting with disaster somehow. I mean, even if it wasn't, Leo would kill me when he found out. And I don't mean figuratively. I mean literally. He'll haul me into his office and strangle me with his bare hands then beat my head in with a book on ethics." 

"Who says Leo has to find out?" she countered. "People know I'm in and out of your room at all hours. Hell, half of Washington thinks we're already sleeping together." 

"Donna, that is Washington," Josh declared. "What people think is gossip; what they know can be a weapon. This could… I don't know how, but what if it hurts the administration somehow? I've already endured the President's ire because of personal… Look, another scandal will cripple us permanently." 

"So I'll take the fall then." 

"No," he disagreed. "For something like this, I take it. When someone has to take a bullet, you go for the highest one you can get. In this case, that's me and that's not the point. We're not going to do this." 

"Your career is more important," Donna insisted. "If…it happens – which I know it won't – but on the off chance that is does, it should be me. I can be reassigned or fired." 

"You're missing the point." 

"Which is?" 

"It's not going to go anywhere because we can't do this," Josh said and then paused for a minute. 

"You can't have a personal life because you work in politics?" Donna asked. "Josh, don't you think you're over estimating your importance in the grand scheme of things?" 

Josh paused to consider her question. Then he rubbed his hands over his face in disbelief. 

"This is insane," he said. "This is the craziest thing I've ever contemplated, and this is… you know, me so that's saying a lot." 

"Live a little, Josh." 

He remained quiet for a moment. Donna's words brought those of another back to his mind: SJ on the plane back from Miami. She had told him roughly the same thing. He contemplated things for a few moments. 

"What the hell," he shrugged. 

"Really?" 

"I guess," Josh said. 

Josh and Donna lay there in there respective spaces, staring at the ceiling. They had just agreed to something that neither one of them had ever thought would be happen. 

"So…" Donna started. 

"So," he sighed. 

"What now?" 

"How do I know?" Josh smirked. "Apparently, you're the one in charge of seduction." 

************ 

The twittering of the birds in the early morning light woke Josh from his sleep. He always hated being woken up by them. There was just enough light streaming through the blinds for Josh to focus on his watch, which read 6:04 am. He glanced down at his bed companion. Donna was peacefully sleeping, cuddled up against his chest. Josh rubbed his hand over his face. He knew that Miami shouldn't have happened, and that last night certainly shouldn't have. Donna was indeed an attractive woman, and both knew exactly where to draw the line between profession and personal. In the manner of a few months, that line had definitely been blurred. Josh just didn't know how to fix it. 

He gingerly sat up and lifted Donna off him. He set her back down on the bed, grabbed his boxers and picked out his clothes from his bag. He glanced at Donna one last time. Josh shook his head and headed for the shower. 

Half an hour later, Josh exited the bathroom and noticed that something was different. He smelled an aroma that he hadn't smelled in quite sometime. He put on his dress shirt and ran the towel through his still-damp hair. 

Josh spied his now awake assistant standing in front of the stove. She was clad in only a t-shirt. 

"Donna!" 

"What?!" 

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

"Good morning," she chirped. "I'm cooking breakfast." 

"Breakfast?" 

"That's the meal which is normally prepared in the morning light," Donna smirked. 

"We don't have time," Josh sighed as he began buttoning his shirt. "Donna, the governor, 9 am meeting. One hour and a half from now – and a 45-minute drive to get there. Any of that sound familiar?" 

"Yes," she said with a firm nod as she placed a plate on the table. 

"Okay," he said mystified. "Did any of this factor into your decision to…are you making scrambled eggs?" 

"Yeah," she nodded. "And there's toast and coffee." 

"Okay, are you awake?" 

Donna placed another plate on the table. "Very much so." 

"So you understand what I just said about this morning and the schedule?" he asked. 

"Yeah." 

"And you're making toast anyway?" 

"Actually the toast is done," she smiled. "I'm on eggs right now." 

Josh glared at her. "Have you lost your mind?" 

"Don't shout," Donna said casually. 

"Don't shout!" he repeated. "Donna, the governor, 9 am meeting. Am I repeating myself at all in your recollection?" 

"Josh…" Donna began. 

"See, this is why that," he seethed as he looked at the bed and began pacing, "was a bad idea. You just…" 

"Josh," she tried again. 

"I've heard of…" Josh sighed. "I mean, not really, but I suppose it could happen, but really, there's no reason you should have lost all touch with reality and yet I am left to wonder when…" 

"Josh!" 

"What?" 

"I called to confirm our appointment," she said picking up his cell phone. "The governor got called into an emergency meeting about flooding in the northern part of the state. Your meeting is at 11." 

"Eleven?" Josh asked, looking at his watch. 

"Yes." 

"Oh," he shrugged then sat at the table. "So there's time for breakfast?" 

Donna looked at the still perplexed look on Josh's face and shook her head. 

"What's funny?" he asked. 

"In all the years I've worked for you, has there ever been a time when I let you be late to a meeting?" she asked. 

"In all the years you've worked for me, have you ever had to juggle and rearrange my schedule after…" Josh said, looking over at the rumpled sheets on the bed. 

"That's different," Donna answered. "We're not working." 

"What's that?" 

"Working?" Donna turned to him. "I thought you knew what working was, Josh." 

"Yeah," he nodded quickly. "We're working." 

Donna scooped the eggs from the pan and placed them on the plates. "No, we're not right now." 

"We're not?" he asked. 

"No." 

"What are we doing?" 

Donna filled her own plate then sat across from him at the table. "We're eating breakfast." 

"Breakfast?" Josh asked, still not comprehending the events of the past few minutes. 

"Do I have to explain what that is again?" she smirked. 

"Are we going to work at all today?" 

"Of course," Donna said simply. 

"When will that begin?" Josh asked. 

"After breakfast or whenever you put your tie on," Donna replied. "See, you don't have your tie on right now and that's how I associate with us working. You have no tie on and I…well, I'm not appropriately dressed yet." 

"Are you wearing my shirt?" Josh asked, noticing a navy polo shirt adorning Donna's slender frame. 

"Yeah," she nodded, plucking at the collar. "It was the closest article of clothing near my side of the bed. Now, eat your eggs." 

"Um," Josh began as he picked up his fork. "Are there rules for conversation?" 

"Such as?" 

"Well, if I discuss work, doesn't that mean I'm working?" 

Donna took a sip of coffee. "Huh. Interesting. No." 

"Because I don't have a tie on," Josh surmised. 

"Partly," she replied. "But right now it's mostly because I'm not dressed in my work clothes." 

"So," Josh concluded, " whenever I don't wear a tie and you're wearing my clothes, we're not working." 

"Precisely," Donna agreed. 

"What if you're in my work clothes – such as wearing my tie?" 

"I'd look good in your tie," Donna declared. 

"Is that a threat or a compliment?" 

"Take your pick," she grinned. "How are the eggs?" 

""Fine," Josh said taking a bite. "And can I just say you are setting a dangerous precedent." 

"Am I?" 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Not that I mind. Anytime we're…not working…I think it's good practice that you cook me breakfast. I approve." 

"Don't get used to it," she replied. "So you're…warming up to the idea…us…not working?" 

"I…I…" he stammered. "Can we not talk about that? I'm still…it's…Nice weather, huh?" 

"Joshua," Donna chided. 

Josh set his utensil down on the table. "Donna, all the justification in the world won't change the fact that some part of me cannot…grasp, accept…I don't know, fathom this thing." 

"And I keep telling you it's no big deal," she countered. 

"Yeah, about that. Are you sure?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Absolutely?" Josh parroted. "That's a quick answer." 

"Josh," Donna sighed. "When we work, you are the Deputy Chief of Staff and I'm your assistant. When we're not working, we're two people in a non-committal, non-relationship thing." 

Josh stared at her in amazement. "This is really…nothing to you? It's not a thing, in anyway, at all?" 

"No, not at all," she scoffed. "I'm not looking for anything here." 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"I guess," he shrugged. 

"Finish your eggs," Donna commanded. "I'm going to take a shower." 

"Thanks," Josh said. "For…breakfast." 

"What? I don't get thanks for…" she winked. 

"It would be too much like commitment," he replied. "You don't thank someone for casual sex." 

***************** 

Sam solemnly entered the halls of the White House. Normally excited to return to work after a promising campaign stop, Sam couldn't force a small smile as the assistants and other workers welcomed him back; it had been a rough week for him Finding out the news about his mother had shaken him, but seeing her in the hospital had nearly broken him. However, as the hours following the surger went, Sam learned of his mother's incredible strength in battling this disease. Carolyn Seaborn had weathered the storm of her husband's infidelity and Sam believed that there was a lot of fight left in her. 

He was on his way to his towards the Operations bullpen, when a voice stopped him. 

"Samuel, my man," CJ said. 

"How did you know it was me?" Sam asked as he entered her office. "You didn't even look up from your laptop." 

"Scary, huh?" she smirked. 

"Among other things," he sighed as he dropped his carry-on bag on the floor and deposited his frame on her couch. 

CJ finished typing the line and turned to Sam. "I heard you speaking with Larry just outside my office. But it's good to know that I still have that kind of power over you. Hey, how was California?" 

Sam rotated his neck and tried to rub the kinks of a six-hour flight out of it. "It was good. There was more turn out than I expected. We may still have an outside chance of losing California, though." 

"That's predictable," she replied, snapping the laptop closed. "But that's not why I asked." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," CJ answered. "I wanted to know how your mom was doing." 

Sam's head dropped slightly. "She's…better. I was able to get there before she went into surgery. The doctors are optimistic that they were able to get most of the tumor. She will have to have some radiation and possibly a low dose of chemotherapy – but that's only for a few weeks. Mom's fretting about losing her hair, which is funny, because I never pegged her to be superficial." 

"She can get a nice wig," CJ offered. "Nobody would know that it's not her real hair. Your mom's big in the art industry isn't she?" 

"She's on the board of an art museum," Sam replied with a small smile. "She's got a real eye for art." 

"Then why is it that you have horrible art in your apartment?" CJ grinned, trying to lighten his mood. 

"Just goes to show that the apple does fall far from the tree," Sam sighed. "Look, Kennison said that if we throw our support toward McKinley, then we've got a better chance." 

"Sam," CJ soothed. "You don't have to talk shop right now." 

"And why is that?" Sam scoffed. "This is where I work; I'm supposed to talk shop." 

"Because we're not machines, Sam," CJ snapped. "I know what you're going through. My father doesn't remember what month of the year it is from time to time. I got a phone call from him two nights ago asking me why I wasn't at the Inaugural Ball." 

"CJ," Sam whispered as he moved from the couch to the chair. "I'm sorry…I had totally forgotten." 

"He…he's a brilliant man," CJ continued, the obvious hurt displayed in her tone. "And to watch him deteriorate like that is…" 

"I understand," Sam agreed. "We always think our parents are superheroes; that nothing can happen to them. Then we wake up to the reality that they are, in fact, human. My father had a mistress for 28 years. And now my mother has cancer. It makes other things that we fret over on a daily basis seem inconsequential." 

"It seems like we can never catch a break," CJ replied. 

"Yeah," Sam concurred. "Listen, I've got to go thank Josh for allowing me to take his California trip." 

"He's not back yet." 

"He's not? Vermont wasn't supposed to take that long. Did something go wrong?" 

"No," CJ said. "Well, yes. The weather. Flooding delayed things with both governors. Then he and Donna got lost on the road; something about breadcrumbs. Anyway, they're with Toby now and will be flying back shortly." 

"Oh," Sam replied as he rose from the chair. "Wait. Donna went with him?" 

"She met him in Boston," CJ answered as she reopened her laptop. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know, Sam," CJ answered, "Maybe because she's his assistant." 

"He told me that Donna wasn't going on the California trip and that she wouldn't be going on the New England trip," Sam said. "He seemed kind of.. adamant that she wouldn't." 

"Things change," CJ said. "What's the problem? They're both adults and with Toby there to chaperon, I'm sure they ate their vegetables and did all their homework." 

"It's just that...," Sam sighed then stopped. "Toby was there?" 

"Okay, I gotta ask you this, Sam," CJ began. "What is it with your fascination with Josh and Donna? You've been acting like a third wheel a lot. Stop it. You have more important things to worry about that the Deputy Chief of Staff and his assistant." 

"CJ, you don't understand," Sam said, picking up his bags. 

"No kidding," she responded. "Should I?" 

"No," he shook his head then turned toward the door. "I've gotta see Leo."   
  
  


**Up next: Chapter 22**   
  



	22. A Precipice In Front

**Title**: **THE QUEST,** **_A Precipice In Front_** **(Chapter 22)**   
**Authors**: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247   
**Webpage**:** http://wing_nuts.tripod.com**

The autumn rays painted the landscape with a golden hue. The fading cries of summer filled the air along with the solid sound of bat on ball, the boisterous chatter of players on the field and the good-natured ribbing of friends in competition. 

"Sam, you throw like a girl," Toby Zeigler sneered as he trotted in to the bench. 

"I do not," his deputy protested with a scowl. 

"He's right," CJ agreed with Sam as she joined them while she readjusting her cap. "Girls throw better than that." 

"Touché," Toby acknowledged. 

Donna sat at on the first row of bleachers, scant feet from her co-workers, as they entered the final inning of the Sunday afternoon softball game. The game was a fundraiser, though for once not one for the Democratic Party. It was the benefit for the Young Scholars of America, a program that raised money for scholarships given to underprivileged students across the country. The White House had been invited to play the House Democratic Caucus in front of a crowd of onlookers ranging from local high school players to retired major league stars. 

The President, a long-time, vocal proponent of the scholarship program, had put together his team swiftly--signing himself on as the pitcher. Leo was designated as the manager, which meant essentially that he stood by the bench glued to his cell phone working on country business the entire day; fortunately, Cal Ripken, honorary chairman of the scholarship's Mid-Atlantic chapter stepped in to run the roster. CJ lobbied the blue-eyed former-star and was awarded first base, earning her the uncreative and unwanted nickname Stretch from her teammates. Charlie agreed to catch, but only because he figured he was likely the only person who could keep up the charade that the President was actually reading the signs he was allegedly giving. Sam was relegated to right field after a careless remark about the Boston Red Sox--who knew the pitcher/captain and native of New Hampshire rooted for a Boston baseball team? Toby sewed up his spot as shortstop merely by walking to the spot at the start of the game--no one dared challenge him for the post. Carol, bragging unabashedly about a high school state championship, landed centerfield and dragged Ed with her to take leftfield. Josh, while sputtering quietly about CJ taking his preferred post, accepted the consolation of second base. Larry took third and openly prayed the ball would never get to him. 

The score was low, 5-3, in the White House's favor due to a solid double by Toby in the bottom of the second and a solo homer by Sam in the third. Josh and Rep. Chris Wick got into a shouting match about whether Wick was tagged in time or not. The Umpire, a dour and unplayful Senator John LaBarge (founder of the Michigan scholarship chapter), ruled in the White House's favor but not after scolding both players for acting like unruly seven-year-olds. 

Donna watched the game with wavering interest. They were playing on a high school field in Alexandria, and it was a peaceful afternoon full of good humor. On the other hand, it was on the warm and sticky side weather-wise, and she had not been asked to play. That she wasn't interested in playing and wasn't any good at the game didn't seem to matter. She was disappointed that she wasn't even considered. So, she sat on the bleachers, cheering for her team--primarily the President who would break every so often to announce a bit of trivia about the history of baseball or the physics behind certain aspects of the game. The look on some of his staff's faces was priceless at those moments. Particularly Josh's. 

She hid her pleasure at his displeasure. In fact, she was hiding a lot lately, she knew. 

She had agreed to, even suggested, their current arrangement. She had convinced Josh that it was not a thing--to use his words. She had convinced everyone that nothing had changed between the two of them--not that anyone asked, but since they hadn't she considered the rouse a success. Hell, she reasoned, even Josh was unaware. It had been a little awkward the two days following the trip to Vermont as they joined Toby; Josh kept getting a deer in the headlights look whenever something in the conversation with Toby could have a double meaning. Donna hid her smirks then and let Josh grapple with his composure. Toby appeared not to notice; their non-affair remained a secret. 

Donna knew it was her nonchalant approach to the arrangement that convinced Josh the charade would work. As the days passed, his nervousness faded. A rule evolved that part of their agreement entailed location. They would never be together in Washington. It was permissible when they were on the road only and time and arrangements permitted. 

And that's where Donna found it hardest to hide her feelings. They would be in the final legs of the campaign soon. That meant a lot of time on the road. She could not deny it to herself; it pleased her. Being with Josh pleased her; more than pleased her: it excited her and enthralled her and made her tingle in ways she never imagined possible. Josh was her drug. She had known it for a while and these quick fixes of being with him would get her addicted fast. 

She knew the whole scheme was a bad idea; if it wasn't, why would she have lied to him? She had lied when she said it meant nothing to her. It did. It was a thing. To her. She knew from the moment she suggested it. She never dreamed she would talk him into it. She secretly harbored a hope, farfetched though it was, that he felt the same way about her. But she could see from the way he looked at her--or maybe it was the look he didn't give her when he looked at her--that to him it was precisely as he requested: not a thing. 

Beggars can't be choosers, Donna's grandmother used to say. Donna never understood that in a practical sense until this situation materialized. She knew this time with Josh was a season in the sun, soon to pass, but she would enjoy it while it lasted. She tried to keep her feelings for him from growing any stronger or deeper, but it was near impossible. She even found it difficult to watch him play this stupid game with a passive eye. There he was, dirty from stealing a base in the fourth inning, standing in the on-deck circle stretching his shoulders behind his back with the bat. 

_ They're good shoulders_, she mused to herself. _Great arms. Really, really great arms._

She shivered as she watched him. Then she shook herself back to reality. Today she was his assistant--just like she was most days. They were in Alexandria, Va. That meant they were basically home. She scolded herself. She tried not to think about seeing him out of the office when they were home. She couldn't see him out of the office while there. Home was off-limits. 

"More of the press covered Ritchie's horseshoe match," Toby commented as he stalked by Donna. 

"True, but that was in Texas," Sam said then paused. "That didn't help much, did it?" 

"Not so much, no," Toby replied. 

"They had more local coverage and all he got nationally was a couple sidebars at the back of the news section," CJ pointed out regarding Ritchie's contribution to the education fund two weeks earlier. "Most of those started off with the fact that he nearly maimed his political director with one his tosses." 

Donna listened to the banter and made herself focus on politics again. There was press here, she noted reaffirming CJ and Toby's observations. Though she thought Josh was seriously over-estimating his importance to the administration and campaign with his paranoia, Donna now felt guilty whenever they were at a public function, as though someone would catch her watching him and know their secret. It could hurt his career. And that was another thing she was becoming acutely aware of: Josh was a professional politician; he had a real career. She had only a job; anything that happened to him would affect her. There was a touch more at stake in their liaison than just a few side-glances should word of them get out and not find favor with certain individuals. 

While Donna mused on the new complications in her life, game drew to a close as Sam slapped a blooper into the black hole of right field, sending Josh and Ginger home and securing the White House victory. The team briefly shook hands with their opponents; each declaring the next victory would be for all of the in November. The White House team then gathered at the bench. The President spoke briefly to the media about the scholarship, made a few poignant remarks about education in respect to the campaign and future of the nation. Then, as the reporters disbursed, Bartlet took a moment to thank his players. 

"And, in appreciation of your hard work and hard play, Leo's going to give you the night off," Bartlet grinned. 

"It's Sunday, sir," Toby pointed out. 

"And you don't work on Sundays?" Bartlet retorted. 

"Know what I forgot there?" Toby noted. "Never argue with the Captain." 

"See that it doesn't happen again," Bartlet said in a jaunty manner then departed with his Secret Service detachment. 

As the motorcade sped away, the staff settled into discussions about the most serious business of the day: the evening plans. 

"Where are we going?" CJ asked, stripping off her cap to run her fingers through her flattened hair. 

"We're going home," Sam commented. "Right?" 

"I think she meant where are you going to celebrate," Ed offered. 

"Mulligan's," Toby said quickly. "Who's driving me?" 

Donna, without being asked, dropped Josh's keys in his outstretched hand. She was sure he didn't even recall handing them to her when he arrived. Toby caught the motion then nodded, taking it as a signal that his taxi had arrived. The offer to meet at Mulligan's--a pub located in Georgetown--was extended to all via a shout from Sam across the field to the departing House members. Donna hung back, not sure if she should follow. However, when Ginger beckoned her to join, she reluctantly did so. 

Josh, she noted, had not said a word to her all day. 

***************** 

"I have the first round!" proclaimed Toby as he motioned to the bartender. 

"You've got the second, too," CJ added as she retrieved her frothy grasshopper. 

Sam nodded to the bartender. "Just run a tab under Ziegler. That's Z -I- E-G-L-E- R." 

Toby began to protest, but refrained as he lifted his glass of scotch. 

"I don't give a damn," Toby proclaimed. "Bartender! You heard the man. I taste victory in my mouth, and I intend to keep it there. So, a toast! To Senator LaBarge, my favorite umpire and curmudgeon." 

"Toby, you're my favorite curmudgeon," Sam said. 

"Don't spoil my mood, Sam," Toby grumbled. 

"Fine," the deputy conceded. "May the people of Minnesota re-elect the SOB until he's 105." 

"Minnesota," Josh corrected. "He's from Michigan, Sam." 

"Well, it started with an M," Donna pointed out as she took a sip of her daiquiri. 

Josh turned towards her. "Don't help him. It makes it worse." 

CJ craned her long neck over her bar mates. "Is that Karen Cahill over there? Maybe Sam can fall down in front of her." 

"Give him time," Toby smirked. 

"When did it become Bash Sam hour?" Sam asked as he took a long drag of his beer. 

"Right when you walked in the door," the Communications Director answered. 

"I won the game," Sam pouted. "I did it." 

"No one likes people who brag," Josh commented. 

"Then explain your fan club," Donna deadpanned. "Oh wait, I can do that. Medication." 

The nasty curl to her lips both pleased and saddened Sam. It was her tone that told the story. There was no more flirt in her voice, no more playfulness. She wanted to sting Josh. He hardly seemed to notice--something else that Sam was happy to see and felt guilty about. The subtle wedge he had worked between them was effective, he could see. Their one time genuine, budding feelings for each other had apparently grown cold and forgotten, he assumed. That part of their relationship was now over; Sam mourned it. He knew they could not. They hadn't been given a fair chance to see it grow and possibly blossom into something both could enjoy and cherish. He had squashed it, like a roach and done so without hesitation. Sam looked at them, as did the others after Donna's jab, and then rolled his eyes upward. 

_Forgive me_, he thought. 

CJ caught the movement in interpreted it differently. 

"Put away the claws, children," CJ directed Josh and Donna. 

A brief silence fell over the group. CJ was in no mood for silence. With silence came contemplation and then strategy discussions and the inevitable rehashing of the latest polls. She didn't want any of that for the evening. This was a celebration; a moment to savor a sweet victory. She scanned her colleagues again then spoke. 

"Okay, so it's my turn," she said abruptly. "Let me just say you boys are so bad at PR. I believe we were going to make a toast. So, try this one: To Josiah Bartlet, pitcher and captain extraordinaire who will appear on the news tonight, playing tirelessly in the hot sun for the entire game." 

"Yes, and he didn't maim anyone," Sam brightened. 

"Not even me," Josh whispered to himself. 

He and the President had slipped into a new phase of the one-sided feud. The President did not make eye-contact with him unnecessarily and when there was communication, it was done in short, terse bursts of orders which required no comment from Josh other than: "Thank you, Mr. President." 

"To the President," Toby proclaimed as he raised his glass. 

CJ joined him. "And four more years." 

"Here, here!!" Sam echoed and pounded on the bar. 

The others also raised their glasses in toast of the President and the campaign. They were counting the time to Election Day in weeks rather than months now. September was almost a memory; October was on the horizon. 

CJ set her glass down. "Okay, know what? I need music! Someone get the guy to turn the music up." 

"CJ, it's loud enough already," Josh pointed out. 

"What?" 

"It's loud enough already." 

"What?" she repeated again. "I can't hear you, it's too loud!" 

Josh rose from his stool and went behind the press secretary. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned in. 

"Claudia Jean, I'm mad about you." 

"I read the papers," CJ responded. "You're just mad, so get off me Spunky." 

"You're completely in love with me, aren't you?" Josh asked as a dimple appeared with his smirk. 

"Oh yeah," CJ replied. "I want you like I want another root canal." 

Donna remained on her stool, quietly sipping her drink. She knew that this was another occurrence of Josh being Josh. And it was with CJ. There was nothing between them but a friendly rivalry of sorts – like that of college friends who often wondered who was smarter and never wanting to know the answer for certain. Donna shook her head, chastising herself for being jealous of CJ. CJ was her friend and held no designs on Josh. What Donna was jealous of was their ability able to portray their feelings in public without any awkwardness or fear of a gossip columnist writing about it. 

"Donna, where are Ginger and Carol?" Sam asked, breaking Donna's thoughts. "I thought they were coming out, too." 

"Ginger is behind you," Donna informed him and pointed. 

Sam felt a tap on his left shoulder. "Hi Sam!" 

"Oh, hi there." 

"And Carol is..." Donna scanned the area, looking for CJ's assistant. "Um..." 

"Carol went home to shower," CJ explained. "She's got a date with William Sorensen's new guy... Bill something or other." 

"Sorensen," Sam finished. "Representative William Sorensen's new guy is Bill Sorensen, his son." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "That's why they all call him Junior." 

"Hey, are we're all set for travel arrangements on Thursday?" Toby interrupted. "The last time we all went en masse they screwed up my hotel room." 

"Donna's too," Josh remembered. "She got Sam's room." 

"I'd have settled for Sam's room, but I'd prefer mine," Toby grumbled. 

"Why get a room, Toby?" CJ chuckled. "You never sleep." 

"I do," Toby corrected. "A lot lately. And mostly in my car." 

"Yeah, I find it less scary if I close my eyes when you drive as well," CJ replied, waving her glass at the bartender, signaling her want of another. 

Toby set his glass down. "Seriously, I'm so tired lately. I've gone back and forth across the country so often in the last six weeks..." 

"That you just used the phrase 'back and forth across the country' in a sentence," Sam noted, shaking his head at the poor construction. 

"Yeah," Toby agreed, running the sentence over in his mind with visible rue. 

"It's that flu thing," CJ pointed out. 

"What flu thing?" Toby asked. 

"The one that's all over the news this week," CJ answered. "The thing that's closing all the schools in New York and Connecticut. It's not the flu really. It's this flu, cold-killer thing." 

"I'm fine," Toby argued. 

"Headaches." 

"None." 

"Watery eyes," CJ continued, ignoring his response. 

"Both are fine," Toby replied. 

"Achy joints." 

"Did you see the double play I turned an hour ago?" Toby retorted. 

"Fever." 

"I'm getting hot under the collar because you're not listening to me," Toby scowled. 

"And FATIGUE," CJ finished with a flourish. "Unrelenting fatigue. It's the first symptom. Watch it, Tobus. In fact, don't breathe my air. We're going to Atlanta this week, and I don't have time to be sick." 

"'Cause I do?" 

"I don't know your schedule," CJ answered. 

"You're going to Atlanta?" Donna asked. 

"Yeah," CJ responded, focusing her attention on the blonde assistant. "I'm going with the President and Sam. Then we're in   
Texas on Friday. You guys are there on Thursday?" 

"Yeah, Josh and I," Sam confirmed. "We're there a day early for the health care conference. The President speaks Friday evening." 

"Right," CJ said. "Then it's on to San Francisco Monday and Raleigh Wednesday." 

"Oregon then Minnesota the following week," Toby added. 

"Then New York," Sam said. 

Josh let out a full dimpled grin. "Just in time for the NLCS." 

"Why do you care?" Toby asked. 

"'Cause the Mets are going to be in it, and they will sweep," Josh responded in a tone that implied the answer should have been obvious. 

Toby turned to CJ. "Are delusions part of this illness? Someone should check Josh." 

"Will everyone be in Kansas the last full week of October?" Donna asked, trying to get the group back on topic. 

"Yes," Sam answered, finishing his beer. "The final debate." 

"Final?" Toby snorted. "It's the only one; Ritchie declined every offer for a series and only capitulated to the last one because he thinks the World Series will get more coverage." 

"The World Series will get more coverage," Sam confirmed. 

"There is no game scheduled the night of the debate!" Toby huffed. 

"We know that, Toby," Josh replied. 

"Irritability," CJ observed. "That's another symptom." 

Josh smirked. "Of what, the illness or Toby?" 

"It's the only debate and it's one week before the general election," Toby snarled. "One. One chance to face him on TV and show everyone that he's..." 

"Toby, we know," Sam answered, trying to calm his boss down. "You're preaching to your own choir here. And, in my own defense, since it is the only debate and it is just before the election, that does make it the final one." 

"He's got a point," Josh nodded. "Albeit an asinine one." 

Ginger spoke up. "Weren't you guys just in a good mood giving toasts?" 

"Yes, they were," CJ said. "I need to keep them on task. So, where were we? Oh yes, now, to the best manager in unprofessional softball: To Leo McGarry!" 

"I thought I was going to make a toast this time," Sam pouted. 

"Then you should drink to spell check," Ginger chuckled. 

Sam removed Ginger's martini from her hand. "Bartender, cut her off. She's a cranky drunk. Now, where was I? Oh yes. My turn. To history!" 

The group turned and looked at Sam. "What? Can't I make a toast?" 

"Apparently not," CJ laughed. 

"Don't you have a goldfish to feed?" Sam shot back. 

"Yeah, CJ," Josh leaned against the bar. "You're sitting here scarfing down goldfish, and you've got one that you feed sitting on your desk. Doesn't it seem kind of strange?" 

"No," CJ replied as she popped the small orange cracker into her mouth. 

"Oh, can I say 'to goldfish'?" Sam begged. "Please! I wanna propose a toast." 

CJ gave Sam an evil grin. "How does it feel to want?" 

"Pretty good actually," Sam admitted. "I want to win in November. There. To November!" 

Josh raised his beer. "Okay, we have to go with that." 

Toby picked up his glass. "Sam... Well, all right. To November." 

"To November.... and goldfish," CJ said. 

Sam glared at CJ. "Hey!" 

"Spokeswoman's prerogative," CJ stated. "Hey, guys. I'm going to go powder my nose or whatever it is I'm supposed to say. Don't leave for another place without me." 

Donna rose from her stool. "I'll go with you." 

"They always take a partner," Sam observed. "Why is that?" 

"No one really knows," Josh replied. 

CJ turned and pointed at the boys. "Guys, don't ditch me." 

"We wouldn't think of it," Toby replied as he pulled out his wallet. 

"You usually lead the pack, Toby," CJ pointed out. 

Toby nodded. "I am a natural leader." 

"I thought you were a natural brunette?" Sam remarked. 

**************** _CJ Cregg's Office_   
_Tuesday afternoon_

Donna lightly tapped on the Press Secretary's door. "CJ?" 

"Yeah," came a sniffled reply. "Hey Donna. Is that ice cream?" 

"Yes," Donna answered as she made her way inside the office. "I picked us up some while I was out. My mom always gave me ice cream when I wasn't feeling well. Works wonders." 

"Thanks," CJ smiled as she received the treat. "I have never felt this awful in my life– ever. And don't you dare repeat this to Sam, Toby or Josh." 

Donna chuckled as she took a seat opposite the desk. "Because you'll never hear the end of it. I understand. Why is that?" 

"Because they're men," CJ answered simply. 

"My grandmother used to have a saying," Donna said taking a bite of ice cream. "There are very few men in this world – the rest are just males." 

"Your grandmother's a very wise woman." 

Donna nodded. "I learned a lot from her." 

"How's the rest of the Moss clan doing?" CJ asked. "How long has it been since you've seen them last?" 

"I haven't seen them since before the Iowa Caucus," Donna replied. "At my cousin's wedding. I spoke to my mother last night. She's none too pleased with my father." 

"How so?" CJ could tell by the look on her face that Donna was concerned about something. 

Donna set her cup of ice cream on the desk and sighed. "It seems that my mother is trying to get him to go to the doctor's office. He had a dizzy spell a couple of days ago and it freaked her out; it seems it's not the first time this has happened. My father's not the type of person who likes doctors, and he keeps telling her that he was just dehydrated or something. She's trying to enlist myself and my siblings to try and talk some sense into him." 

"And how's that working out?" CJ inquired. 

"We've been basically told to mind our own business," Donna answered. "And that my father's old enough to know when something's wrong with him." 

CJ nodded. "Sounds like my father." 

"How is he?" Donna asked. 

"He has his good days," CJ replied. "And a good day for him is remembering where he left his glasses or what day it is." 

"I'm so sorry, CJ," Donna whispered. "I know this is rough on you. If there's anything I can do…" 

CJ smiled. "Thanks. It means a lot to me that you would offer. And that goes for me too…with your dad." 

"Thanks." 

"Donna?" came a roar down the hall. "DONNA!" 

Donna sighed and rose from the chair. "Duty calls." 

"I can hurt him for you if you want," CJ offered. "I'll just blame it on the medication." 

"Tempting offer," Donna smiled as she walked toward the threshold. "Rain check?" 

"Anytime." 

"Are there any changes to the itinerary that you know of for Texas?" Donna asked over her shoulder. 

"I'd be the last to know," CJ answered then sunk back into her work. 

***************** _10th Floor of the Radisson Hotel_   
_Houston, Texas_   
_7 p.m._

Sam made his way to the hotel room office of the Chief of Staff. His step had a little more bounce than normal. He received word that morning from his father that his mother was near completion of her chemotherapy treatments. While her hair had left her, her spirits hadn't. She was volunteering to help organize an exhibit at the gallery where she work to display art work done by cancer patients in order to raise money for research. 

Another reason that had Sam in a good mood was the campaign – all aspects of it. While the Bartlet campaign had slipped in the polls, so had Ritchie's camp. There were now four candidates making the news regularly. Some moneyed ultra right conservatives found Ritchie not conservative enough and were backing the Reverend Dr. William Mitchell, a cable TV preacher and political scientist who taught at the University of Missouri; he was also a former Representative from and one-time Attorney General of that state. He was gaining some steam in the polls--taking tiny nibbles at Ritchie's base. That was a reason to celebrate, if not for the emergence of the political left's own other-party candidate--complete with Amy Gardner serving as one of his political directors. Amy had the campaign running better than expected and was taking shots at both Ritchie and Bartlet on the environmental flank and the social security platform. Sam likened her to a gnat buzzing around and through the Bartlet strategy. Negotiations were underway to get her and her candidate to stand aside and throw their support behind the President. The staff--except Josh who proclaimed weekly she was more certifiable than he ever was--was still optimistic about the plan even though Bruno had falsely predicted both alternative candidates would step aside two weeks after the respective conventions. 

Even the low points had some good aspects; Sam was determined to focus on the positive. The President had excelled in the previous week's speech on energy conservation, and the health care summit being held in Houston was earning positive points in the media. Sam also scored a personal achievement, even though it guilted him constantly – the separation of Josh and Donna. He had noticed for the past few months a distance between the Deputy and his assistant. They were not as close – as flirty - as they once were. Without the insinuation of any interests on either person's part, both were able to focus their energy on the campaign and keeping their respective jobs. 

Sam arrived at his destination and knocked on the door. 

"Yeah," Leo replied. 

Sam entered grinning widely. "Hey, CNN and USA Today have Ritchie's camp at 48 percent." 

"Yeah," Leo replied as he studied the report in his lap. "But we're at 46. I don't call that a success, Sam." 

"Right," Sam nodded. "But, on the success front Mitchell has two percent and Amy's guy only one." 

"I'm still waiting to hear the success in this, Sam." 

"Their renegade is drawing more support than ours," Sam said. "Sure, we're second on the polls now, but with a three percent margin of error, we're actually just about even. It's a dead heat, Leo." 

"Again, when you come to the good part, let me know so I can listen," Leo continued to read. 

Sam nodded then sat down. Leo looked up and looked at Sam over his glasses. 

"Anything else?" 

"Well, I'm having a reasonably good week," Sam said. "I've decided it's about perspective." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Sam said. "Not everything is bad, even those things that are. I mean, not entirely bad. Like mold on bread. Yeah, it's not a great thing, but there's penicillin, so..." 

"Are you starting some medical research or a bakery?" 

"Neither, I just feel pretty good and wanted to share," Sam said. 

"You feel good about deadlocked polls, a campaign that can't seem to overcome gravity, a situation in...." 

"Yes, I do," Sam cut him off. "I don't feel great about it and I'm not turning cartwheels in the halls, but I'm hopeful. Hope is a good thing, Leo." 

"Yeah," Leo said, returning to his reading. 

"I even feel okay about Josh and Donna," Sam said. 

"What about them?" 

"Well, Josh doesn't seem to be as interested in Donna as he once thought he might be," Sam explained. "That's what I wanted, but then I felt bad about the things I had done." 

"Things?" 

"Little things, like swapping their hotel rooms around so they wouldn't be as close to each other and telling Josh that Donna would never be interested in him and that he wasn't interested in her," Sam said. 

"You did that?" 

"You sent Toby with him through New England as a chaperone," Sam reminded Leo. "You've also...." 

"Okay, I made some decisions," Leo said. "It's not a conspiracy. And, why the hell are we talking about this if it's not a problem anymore?" 

"Because I've made my peace with it," Sam said. 

"Congratulations," Leo said flatly. He wasn't happy that the thought of manipulating his staff's personal lives ever crossed his mind. He didn't dwell on it, but it was something he thought he would ever do. 

"Josh," Sam began as he sat opposite the elder man, "is totally focused on the campaign. I don't think he's had thought one about pursuing anything outside the professional realm with Donna. So our intervention worked." 

"Sam," Leo replied as he removed his glasses, placing them on the desk. "Is that really important right now?" 

"Is it important?" the Deputy inquired. "Leo, you just told me that we're running at 46 percent. If Josh had other things occupying him, we might not be cracking 40 percent. What he did, that thing about him and the psychiatrist, it helped us. Everything he does is about the campaign now. We need that." 

"I agree," Leo admitted. "He gets a gold star from me in his permanent record. Anything else?" 

"No, it was just that I had been thinking," Sam sighed. "Sometimes I think he's sacrificed too much." 

Leo picked up his glasses and resumed his reading. "Yeah." 

"I decided that wanting him to do that isn't wrong because in the end it achieves a greater good," Sam began. "I know all about the ends justifying the means, but I've come to terms with it and this time I might be okay. Don't you think? Do you think we've overstepped our boundaries?" 

"Such as?" 

Sam sat back in the chair and slumped his shoulders. "Such as… never mind. It's the right thing to do. Yeah. We're going about it in the right way. Josh will understand in the end." 

"Whatever," Leo responded as he turned the page in his report. He paused for a moment. "Hey, Sam, how's your mother doing?" 

Sam smiled. 

"She's doing great," Sam replied enthusiastically. "Her last chemo appointment is set for next Tuesday. Her oncologist says that it's looking promising." 

"That's great," Leo answered. 

"She might be able to fly out to Washington in January," Sam continued. "So, it'll be either for the Inaugural Ball or to help pack." 

"Either way, she'll be happy to see you," Leo said. 

Sam stood and headed for the door. "And I got her a cowboy hat. Or I guess since she's a woman it's called a cowgirl hat. You know, when it…uh, well Houston." 

"Yeah." 

"It's kind of corny, isn't it?" Sam admitted. 

"A little," Leo replied as he turned another page. 

"She'll like it," Sam concurred. 

"She has to." 

"Because she's my mother?" Sam assumed. 

"Pretty much." 

"Okay then," Sam replied and exited the room to find Toby and Josh for dinner.   


  


***************** _CJ Cregg's Hotel Room_   
_Houston, Texas_   
_7:25 p.m._

Toby stared at the contents of the bag. 

He opened it because he thought she had gone to a store and bought junk food. There might have been pie in that bag. 

Only there wasn't. 

"CJ...," Toby gasped as his eyes grew wide and fixed on the box in the paper bag. The words "pregnancy" and "test" burned in his sighs. 

She snatched the bag from his hands and glared back at him. 

"Do you mind?!" 

"Actually, yes I do," Toby replied heatedly. "Who is he?" 

"Who is who?" CJ asked confusedly. "And what are you doing here?" 

"I'm collecting the dinner you owe me," Toby explained. "And... that... is..." 

"That is none of your concern, Toby," CJ replied with a roll of her eyes as she placed the bag back on the desk beside her. "I'm not ready for dinner just yet. Come back in half an hour." 

Toby began to pace, his hand rubbing his head as he ignored her command to vacate the room. 

"I'll kill him," he murmured. 

"What?" 

"I said I'll kill him," Toby repeated. "With... with... a hockey stick." 

CJ fixed him with a perplexed expression as a curt rap sounded on her door. Before she could respond, the door swung inward. Sam appeared, looking curious and hopefully. 

"Hey, were we going to get dinner?" he asked. 

"I'll bash him into next week," Toby continued to seethe. "And then have him audited!" 

"Who?" Sam asked. 

"Whoever did this to her." 

"Who her?" 

"Her her," Toby growled pointing at the Press Secretary. 

"CJ?" Sam asked. "What happened? CJ, are you alright?" 

CJ's scowl was slowly melting into a grin and her eyes were already laughing as Josh entered through the partially ajar doorway. 

"What's going on?" he asked, looking at Toby with interest. "Sammy, are we going to eat or not?" 

"Sam, I'm fine," CJ chuckled. "It's nothing." 

"Nothing?!" Toby shouted. "You call that nothing?" 

"What the hell's going on here?" Josh asked. 

"Well, Toby's having someone audited for... well, I don't know why, but its something about CJ," Sam explained. 

"Audited?" Josh repeated. "What they hell did the person do? Insult Brooklyn?" 

"CJ," Toby sighed. "Just give me his name. Hell, give me his initials. I'll find him. Just give me a minute and I'll find a stick." 

CJ burst into laughter, sitting at her desk in order not to fall over. She guffawed for several moments, unable to get an intelligible word out of her mouth. When she finally caught her breath and found her composure, she attempted to restore order. 

"Toby, take it easy," she commanded. 

"Would someone tell me what's going on?" Sam asked. 

"Take it easy?" Toby gaped. "This guy has gotten you pregnant and you want me to relax?" 

In unison, Josh and Sam uttered their surprise: "WHAT?" 

"Guys." 

"Well, this is just....," Sam began to sputter as a scowl drew on his lips. "I mean.... I really don't know how to react to this. Except... that is.... I'll kill him." 

"Okay, I'm still a little lost here," Josh said waving his hands. "What... What..." 

CJ sighed exasperatedly. 

"Toby, it's not for me," she said forcefully. "If you had kept your nose out of that bag we wouldn't be having this conversation." 

"Okay," Josh interrupted. "And again, let me ask: What conversation are we having? CJ, what are you talking about? What's not for you? What bag?" 

"This," Toby said as he snatched the bag from the desktop and thrust it into Josh's hands. 

Josh peeked into the bag and felt his eyes grow as wide as Toby's looked. 

"Uh, that's a....," he paused as he searched for the words. "One of those things." 

"Yeah, Einstein," CJ said, taking the bag back. "One of those things. Also known as a home pregnancy test." 

"That's what I meant," Josh defended. 

"You just couldn't remember the words," CJ snapped. 

"You bought one?" Sam asked. 

"No, I stole it," she said. "Of course I bought it!" 

"He's going to take some responsibility for this," Sam ranted. "I mean, whatever you do, he's going to... to.... Oh, I'll see   
that he does... you know... yeah." 

"I'M NOT PREGNANT!" 

"You didn't even open the test," Toby pointed out. "How do you know?" 

"Yeah, unless the test wasn't for you, how....," Josh began then stopped. "The thing isn't for you, is it?" 

"No," CJ said simply. 

"So, you're not....," Toby surmised with helpless hand gestures. 

"Nope," CJ answered with a flat expression. 

"Well, of course not," Sam said in a flustered tone. "So, this is all done. That's... good. Great. Wonderful." 

"Sam." 

"Right," he nodded. "I'll shut up now." 

"Thank you," she replied. 

"I would have used my stick," Toby said with a shrug. 

"Oh, I think you should go get it," CJ intoned. "I want to use it to beat you for making this scene. And, for the record, I do NOT owe you dinner, Toby. Now, you owe me." 

"How do you figure that?" the speech writer asked perplexedly. 

"I was trying to have a nice peaceful evening until Larry, Moe and Curly decided to invade my room," CJ said. "For that, I blame you." 

"Okay then," Toby shrugged. "Well, that's one less thing to do this evening." 

"Uh, CJ," Josh interrupted. "If you didn't need that thing, why did you buy it?" 

"I bought it for someone else," she said simply then turned her head away. She wanted to have that conversation even less than the one just ended. 

"Who?" Sam asked instantly. 

"It's none of your business," CJ stated. "Just like it wasn't 10 minutes ago when you all started acting like my brothers. This person chooses to remain anonymous and will stay that way. She's a little embarrassed at this whole situation, and now I've got you guys wanting to play amateur gumshoes and try and solve the mystery." 

"Well, it's a woman," Josh surmised. 

"Hard to believe people think you're an idiot sometimes," Toby chided. "How did you ever deduce that Sherlock?" 

"Just, you know, came to me," Josh shrugged. 

"Is it Carol?" Sam asked. "It's not Bonnie is it?" 

"I'm not telling you," CJ said firmly, fixing them with a pointed stare. "What part of _none of your business_ confuses you, Sam?" 

"It's not that I didn't understand," he replied. "It's just that I was still curious." 

"It's someone on staff," Josh added. 

"A woman," Toby summed up. "On staff. I've got the best minds in the country running this campaign." 

CJ turned swiftly to Toby. 

"And the lunatic with his hockey stick is running this asylum," she said. "Guys, it's a dead subject. Move on." 

An uncomfortable pause followed where each took turns staring at the walls, the floor and the ceiling. After the extended silence, Sam broke the tension. 

"I am hungry," he said, receiving stern glances from each of his colleagues. "Hey! She wanted to change the subject. I was hungry. I thought it was a good time to announce that." 

"Good," CJ said. "Why don't you guys go on and..." 

Before she could finish, there was a light rapping on the door. Carol entered with an expectant look. She and CJ exchanged glances. 

"Is that the thing?" Carol asked, eyeing the bag. 

"Yeah," CJ said, handing the package to her. "Here." 

Carol took the bag and nodded. She smiled briefly at the others then exited the room without another word. 

"So, it's Carol?" Josh asked. 

"No," CJ said firmly. 

"But Carol is taking it?" Josh noted. "Why didn't she buy it if it's not for her?" 

"Okay, that makes no sense--in case everyone else was following along," Toby sighed. 

"I was heading to the drugstore to get some shampoo and said I would get it," CJ explained. "Carol is just dropping it off." 

"So, it's not CJ and it's not Carol," Sam deduced. "That narrows the field." 

"So, who is with us this time?" Josh asked. 

"Not me any longer," Toby said abruptly. "CJ, you owe me dinner--at least a scotch after this. I'll see you in the bar." 

"Feel free to start a tab," she replied. "In your name, of course." 

"Yeah," Toby sighed as he left, thoughts of a stiff whisky on his mind. 

"Are we still doing dinner?" Sam asked those remaining. 

Josh rolled his eyes, dug his hands into his pockets then left the room. Sam remained standing in the room quietly with CJ. She looked at him then the door and back to him. 

"I should go now," he said. 

"Yeah," CJ nodded. 

"Right," he said. "Of course. Yeah. Okay then." 

Sam departed as CJ shut the door heavily behind him. He caught up with Josh at the elevator. 

"So, you don't think its Bonnie, do you?" Sam asked Josh as they waited for the car to arrive. 

"Really hadn't thought about it," Josh said mildly. 

"I don't think so either," Sam nodded. "I mean, she's not seeing that guy... Frank, Fred, whoever. Or was it Jimmy?" 

"I have no idea," Josh replied, looking at his watch. 

"I can't think of anyone else who's seeing anyone or is married and in the age range to be having kids," Sam continued, as the car arrived. They entered together. "Which, if you think about it, might be the reason why we can't figure this out." 

"I really don't," Josh sighed. 

"Don't what?" 

"Think about it," he said. 

"Oh, because it would make the most sense," Sam said. "It's someone one staff who is not a likely candidate for children. I think it might be someone who is on the outside edge of childbearing years. Then again, it could be someone who just had a one-night stand or something. Or is not in a stable relationship. CJ just said the woman was a bit embarrassed about it." 

"Yeah," Josh said, as the doors to the elevator opened to his floor. 

"Because, that opens up the field," Sam said. 

_Oh no._

Josh felt any icy stab in his stomach. Not a stable relationship? An unexpected and unwanted pregnancy? 

_This is not happening to me. Right. Because the unexpected and unthinkable never happen to me._

"Hey, are we....," Sam began. 

"Sorry, I forgot something," Josh said hurriedly. 

"What?" 

"Uh.... Leo's.... thing about the....," Josh struggled for an excuse. "Nothing." 

Rather than finish, he pushed the button to close the doors, abandoning Sam. He then hit the button for the lower lobby where he had left Donna to finish putting together a briefing for the morning. 

***************** 

Donna sat at the card table the doubled as her desk for the afternoon and evening. She was tired and achy. She had been staring at the same four reports for nearly two hours and the knots in her neck were tightening. 

"Donna," Josh said, suddenly behind her. 

"God, don't do that," Donna jumped, dumping her pretzels all over the table and floor. "Now look what you did? I just got the last package out of the vending machine. They cost me two dollars." 

"Pretzels cost two dollars?" 

"No," she corrected. "I pretzels cost 75 cents. The machine ate the first dollar and 25 cents I put in it." 

"Okay." 

"Okay?' Donna fumed. "You ruin my snack and all I get is okay? Josh, I really wanted those. I've been thinking about them all afternoon." 

"You have?" he said, swallowing hard, the word '_craving_' popping painfully into his mind. 

"Yeah," she sighed then picked up two from the table and ate them remorsefully. "What do you need? I sort of wanted a little time to myself here." 

"Why?" 

"Why?" she repeated. "Because I did." 

"Are you going some place?" 

"Actually, yes," she said standing as she gathered her notes. "Hey, are you feeling okay? You're looking kind of pale." 

"I'm fine," he said, the knot in his stomach growing. "How... how are you?" 

"Starving," she said stuffing the last salvable pretzel into her mouth. 

"Have you seen Carol recently?" 

"Um, just a minute ago," Donna said casually. "Why? Did you need her for something?" 

"Did you need to see her for anything?" Josh asked, wishing for the millionth time that he had his father's insightful knack for asking questions and getting answers. "Is there anything you think you should tell me?" 

Donna looked at him with guilt filling her eyes. She hung her head and took a deep breath. She gave herself a silent pep talk then nodded. 

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, there is." 

Josh took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. He placed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him to steady his balance and waited for the news. 

"I forgot to tell you that Leo wanted you to call Joey and have her start a new poll on the Medicaid thing," Donna confessed. "He told me an hour ago, and it slipped my mind. I'm sorry. I called for you and passed the message, but I'm not sure the people at Global listen to me the way they listen to you. It was my mistake, an oversight more than a mistake really, but if you want to be mad, I understand." 

Josh stopped squinting at the floor and looked up at her face. 

"I'm sorry?" he said. "What did you say?" 

"Leo wanted you to contact Joey," she said simply. 

"That's it?" 

"Yeah," Donna said with a puzzled look. "Why?" 

Josh sighed with relief, needing the chair to keep his balance further. An unconscious grin grew on his face as he shook his head. 

"Carol didn't come down here and give you a...," he began then nodded at her clueless expression. "You have no clue what I am talking about. Fantastic." 

"Josh, what is going on?" 

"Nothing any more," Josh said. "Look, we need to talk." 

"Okay," Donna replied and grabbed her notepad. 

Josh shook his head and took the notepad from her, laying it on the table. 

"No, not that," Josh said. "This is.... not about working." 

"It's not?" 

"Okay," Josh said changing tracks. "I guess I should say it's about NOT working." 

"Oh," Donna nodded and forced herself not to grin. 

"Yeah," Josh said. 

He looked briefly over his shoulders and then around the room to verify they were alone. He saw only the three folding chairs around the card table and the two wing backed chairs facing the wall in the far corner. Satisfied they had the necessary privacy, he continued. 

"CJ had to go out and buy someone a pregnancy test, and it just started me realizing that... well, we haven't exactly been careful," Josh began. 

"Oh, that," Donna said with a flip of her hand. "I knew about the test." 

"Really?" Josh asked. "Whose is it? No, wait. Never mind. I don't care. Look, this is... It's things like that which.... I mean, we can't do this anymore." 

"What?" 

"We can't," he said, trying to sound professional about sleeping with his assistant. "Things like this can happen, and it wouldn't matter... I mean, it would change everything, regardless of how it was dealt with, and I'm not at a point in my life where... I just.... It's over, Donna. Not that it was anything to begin with, like you said, it wasn't a thing. But it's gotta stop. I mean. Can we just...." 

Donna bit her lip, feeling the quivering in her face. 

"Are you going to cry?" he asked suddenly. 

Instead she loosed an unbridled chuckle. 

"Okay, that's not quite what I was expecting," he said confused. 

"Josh, you don't need to worry," she giggled at his serious expression. 

"Yeah, I do," he replied. "We haven't been exactly careful a few times and I know we never talked about..." 

"I'm saying it wouldn't happen," Donna interrupted. "I mean, couldn't. I've got it covered. Each time that we've... you know. We were safe." 

"We were?" 

"Yeah, I've got it covered," she said. "I know the pill doesn't constitute completely safe sex, but I know everything about you and you know enough about me...." 

"Enough?" 

"Yeah," she grinned coyly. "So, you know, it can still be our _non-thing._" 

"What?" he asked then nodded with visible relief. "Oh, right. I guess, if you're sure." 

"Uh huh," she nodded, hiding her relief and glee. 

"Okay," he said with a nod as he scanned the room again. 

With nothing more to say on the subject, Donna again gathered her work and prepared to leave. 

"Where are you going?" Josh asked. 

"To find dinner," she said. 

"Yeah?" he replied. "I'm supposed to be meeting Toby in the bar." 

"Are you guys getting dinner?" she asked. "I could go for some food. Sam ate my lunch, and you ruined my pretzels." 

"Don't take this wrong, but...," Josh said uncomfortably. "Now is not a good... I mean, we're gonna get into some sensitive stuff and.... You know..." 

"Oh," she said dejectedly. "Fine. You trust me with your credit cards and social security number, but I'm not supposed to be told that Indiana has 11 electoral votes and that we're not getting." 

"Indiana has 12 electoral votes," Josh corrected her. She was right about not winning them in November. 

"I'll be across the street at McDonald's getting a salad," she said tersely. 

"Really?" Josh asked brightly. 

"No," Donna said pointing a scolding finger at him before he opened his mouth again. "I am not bringing you back anything. You're having dinner with Toby in a place where the menu is printed on paper not emblazoned on a light board. Besides, it's not good for you, and you missed your last doctor's appointment." 

"I'm fine," he scowled. 

"I'm sure you are," she agreed. "But they're not my rules; the doctors want to see you every three months now. Stop pouting. It's better than every month." 

"I still have to see them every month," he grumbled. 

"But not for the blood tests and stress tests anymore," she reminded him. "It's five minutes every other week to check your blood pressure. And you like it. That red-headed nurse flirts with you." 

He shrugged and grinned unconsciously. Donna held back her pointed scowl. Jealousy, she reminded herself yet again, would ruin their arrangement. Josh was an incorrigible flirt and flirting for Josh was harmless. He was rarely aware he was doing it and never did anything about the instances when it was mercilessly reciprocated by nurses, campaign workers, pollsters or even cute and perky constituents. 

The duo left the office area. Once the door was closed, Charlie poked his head from around the wing backed chair facing the back corner. He had hunkered down in the chair 30 minutes earlier to read a chapter in his book, a moment of silence and solace during the chaotic trip. He had been obscured from Josh and Donna's eyesight and wished he hadn't been. He sat there, stunned at the revelations in his accidental eavesdropping. 

"That was more than I needed to know," the President's dumbfounded aide mumbled, shaking his head. 

Charlie rose from the chair and exited the room. He made his way to the elevator and pressed the up button. It was time for another check in with the President before he went to grab dinner. The doors opened a minute later. Charlie entered the car to find Sam inside. 

"Hey Charlie," Sam said. 

Charlie said nothing. 

"Is anything wrong?" Sam asked. 

"Wrong.... that's a.... No," the aide replied, shaking his head. 

"What's going on?" Sam probed. 

"I'd rather not say," Charlie said simply. 

"You'd rather not?" 

"No," Charlie shook his head. 

"Is it about the campaign or the President?" 

"No." 

"Is it about me?" 

"No," Charlie said again. 

"Then I don't care," Sam said. 

"That's what I like to hear," Charlie said. "I don't want to think about it anymore." 

**************** 

_Donna Moss' Hotel Room_   
_9:23 p.m._

Donna leaned back against the headboard and sighed. She had completed her meal and was preparing to start on dessert. Donna hadn't indulged in a strawberry sundae in quite some time, and she was looking forward to savoring every last morsel. Josh was preoccupied in his meeting with Toby and Sam. She had spied the trio in the bar on her way back from the restaurant. Toby and Josh were arguing and Sam was leaning back in his chair, hoping not to get hauled into the debate. Donna believed that Josh would be occupied well into the night. While she was slightly disappointed of the prospect of not being with him, she was pleased that she could do something that hadn't been done in months – take a long, hot bath and watch a non-political television show. 

Donna took the first bite of her frozen treat when her cell phone rang. 

"What do you need, Josh?" she asked, not hiding the irritation in her tone. 

"You knew it was me?" 

"You're the only one who has this type of timing," Donna answered. 

"What's that mean?" 

"Nothing. What do you want?" Donna asked. "I thought you were tied up in a meeting." 

"Done," he responded. 

"Toby kicked you out?" she concluded 

"No." 

"What do you want?" Donna asked again. 

"I need the files on the latest polling data," Josh said. 

"The polling data?" she asked. 

"For the East Coast and Upper Mid-West," he said. "You should know that." 

"The files are located in the office area on down stairs," Donna huffed. "I'm the next floor up from you and in the middle of the last course of my gourmet meal which is currently melting right now because you are depriving me of eating it. And to answer your next question, no I did not get you one." 

"I didn't ask you where they were," Josh corrected. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"The files," Josh said. "I didn't ask you where they were. I said I need the files--as in you need to go get them and deliver them to me." 

"Josh," Donna protested. 

"Donna," Josh sternly replied. "I need those files. I am getting ready to start a night's worth of reading and rethinking our strategy for the next two weeks; those files are vital to the briefing memo I'm preparing for Leo and Bruno tonight. We're working tonight or did you forget?" 

"What do I get in return?" 

"What do you get in return?" Josh repeated. 

"Yeah." 

"How about keeping your job?" 

Donna glanced at her partially eaten sundae and sighed. She rose from the bed and made her way over to the trash can, depositing the dessert with an enormously loud thump. 

"What was that?" Josh questioned. 

"A dollar ninety-five down the drain," she replied. "I'll be there in ten minutes." 

"Make it five and grab me some bottled water would you," he ordered and then disconnected. 

Donna exited her room and made her way down one level. She decided to take the stairs, hoping to work off some steam that was caused, in her mind, by an inconsiderate Deputy Chief of Staff. She breezed into the room and quickly located the files in question. 

"I'm a person with thoughts and feelings of my own that," Donna said, mostly to herself. "I deserve acknowledgement of at least that much. Do I get it? No. He thinks I don't need those things and don't know anything. Well, I do. I know all sorts of things," 

"I'm sorry?" Charlie asked as he stopped in mid-step. He was turning in for the evening and had been making his way back to his room when he heard Donna's voice. "Did you say something to me?" 

"Well, no," she explained. "Not exactly. I'm just feeling.... under appreciated. Sam and Toby have Josh tied in knots about some numbers so I had to forfeit the best part of my dinner; earlier today, Bonnie was supposed to drop off the healthcare folder to me, but she forgot it on the desk downstairs so I went down and Sam ate my lunch while I was gone. Now, Josh called a few minutes ago all impatient because he doesn't have some polling data—something he could have gotten on his own but is too lazy and self-centered to retrieve--and asks me if I had forgotten I was working tonight? As if I would. As if he'd let me. I know I'm working. I know a lot of things, things people don't need to know sometimes but are interesting and witty and generally good for a momentary break from this monotony we call life!" 

Donna sighed as her rant drew to an end. The campaign swing through Texas and Oklahoma was just two days, but it was a long two days, and she was frazzled. It wasn't that she felt overwhelmed with the work--she most certainly didn't. It wasn't that she was tired to the chaos of the campaign--she wasn't. Before she could ponder the reasons further, Charlie drew her attention. 

"Such as?" the President's personal aide asked. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"What is it that you know that's so.... I don't know, what did you say? Intriguing?" Charlie inquired. 

"Oh, well," Donna paused then cocked her head to the side to gather her thoughts. "Did you know that it is impossible to lick your elbow?" 

"I did not," Charlie replied then instinctively lifted his elbow and stared at it. 

In that instant, Donna kicked in with her follow-up knowledge. 

"Seventy-five percent of all people who hear that will try to lick their elbow," she informed him, receiving a guilty but entertained grin in response. 

She accepted Charlie's nod as evidence that he was among that group. She then joined him in the elevator, feeling the stress of her overwrought moment fading. 

"A crocodile can't stick its tongue out," she continued. 

"That's interesting," Charlie said. "They probably never bite their tongue either." 

"Probably," Donna agreed. "A shrimp's heart is in its head. I think a few of the people we work with could benefit from that anatomy." 

"There's a case to be made for that," Charlie nodded as he pressed the button for his and Donna's floor. 

"In a study of 200,000 ostriches over a period of 80 years, no one reported a single case where an ostrich buried   
its head in the sand," Donna informed him. 

"Again, something that a few folks in this business might benefit from knowing," he added. 

"Touché," she observed. "Did you know that it is physically impossible for pigs to look up into the sky?" 

"Why is that?" 

"No cervical joint in the neck," Donna replied with a confident nod. 

"Ah." 

"Yes," she grinned. "A pregnant goldfish is called a twit." 

"I would think most ladies would resent that term," Charlie offered. "You'd think goldfish would too, but they don't seem to be very vocal about these things." 

"They should hire a lobbyist," Donna said. "More than 50% of the people in the world have never made or received a telephone call." 

"Is that because no one likes them or because they don't have phones?" 

"Not really sure," Donna confessed as the doors opened. 

"Well, thanks Donna," Charlie said as the turned left to head to his room. "This was a conversation for which I have no use but enjoyed more than just about anything else today." 

"You are most welcome," Donna said. 

"You... uh, have a good night now," Charlie grinned. 

Donna bid him goodnight as well and thought nothing more of his strange smirk. 

She continued down the hall and used Josh's spare card key to enter his room to deliver the folder he had been whining about for the better part of half an hour. She entered the room quietly and dropped the folder in his lap where he sat in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed reading in the scant light from an ugly lamp. 

"Horses can't vomit," she said sitting on the bed beside his feet. 

"What?" he replied looking up, perplexed from the briefing book he was reading. 

"They can't," she replied. "Like rats. They don't possess the proper muscles or something. It's a fact." 

"Is it a campaign issue?" 

"Not yet," she said. 

"Then I don't care," he said, turning back to his reading. "Do you have the things?" 

"They're in your lap," she sighed as she scooted up to the head of the bed and leaned back on the pillows. 

He glanced at the folder briefly, grunted his disappointment then tossed them on the floor. Donna scoffed quietly and shook her head. She expected as much. 

"The 'sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick' is the toughest tongue twister in the English language," she informed him. 

"Are we doing something about agriculture tomorrow?" he asked perplexed as he sifted through his notes looking for the following day's agenda. 

"No," she replied. 

"So this thing about horses and sheep is.... what?" 

"Just something I know," she said casually. "Like, if you sneeze too hard, you can fracture a rib and if you try to suppress a sneeze, you can rupture a blood vessel in your head or neck and die. If you keep your eyes open by force, they can pop out." 

He lifted his eyes slowly from his reading and looked at her cautiously. 

"Okay," he said slowly. 

"Explain something to me," she demanded. "If the government has no knowledge of aliens, then why does Title 14, Section 1211 of the Code of Federal Regulations, implemented on July 16, 1969, make it illegal for US citizens to have any contact with extraterrestrials or their vehicles?" 

"Because there's no way to tax that," he said confidently. 

"A duck's quack doesn't echo," she continued. "No one knows why." 

"Uh, Donna...." 

"Most commercially manufactured lipstick contains fish scales," Donna informed him. "And like fingerprints, everyone's tongue print is different." 

"Is there a point to any of this?" he asked. 

"No," she answered. "Just like there was no point in me ordering dinner or getting those numbers for you. There's really no point to me being in here right now even." 

"So why are you?" he asked. 

"Because you told me we were working," she offered. 

"I just got a call from Bruno," Josh sighed. "He doesn't need to look at anything more. He, Toby and I are in agreement. We're done for now." 

"So, you're done for the night," Donna ventured. 

"Yeah, you can go," Josh said and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He noted, after several moments, that Donna had not moved from her spot. 

"I said you can go," he said looking up with a questioning expression. "Why are you still here?" 

"Because we're on the road," she shrugged. 

"Yeah." 

"Give it a minute," she said coyly. "You'll do the math and figure this out. We're on the road and not working. Those are two of the three criteria." 

"Criteria?" he asked, then caught her meaning. He kept his face in check and tried to keep his voice steady as he asked his next question. "There's a third?" 

"Yeah. Interest." 

"Well, would it get you to stop spouting inane trivia?" he asked, unable to hide the dimple that emerged in his left cheek. "Because, if it would, then I'm all for it." 

"Never know unless you try," she whispered flicking off the light plunging the room into darkness. 

**************** 

September disappeared like all the colorful leaves on the trees in New England. The campaigning was running, much like the eyes and noses of most staffers. CJ's prediction of the new plague, a vile chest and head cold felling much of the country, had come true starting with her. The Press Secretary suffered greatly with the ailment, thanks in part to the lack of sympathy she received from her co-workers. She wished them all 10 times worse when their turn with the germs arrived. 

No one took the curse seriously until Larry succombed to a sudden fever in Nevada. His time on the disabled staffer's list was followed, predictably, by Ed who was so exhausted fighting his turn that he fell asleep while taking the Metro home one evening and missed his stop--ending up in Maryland--and was forced to take a cab home after transit authorities woke him and informed him the trains were done for the night and would not resume until 6 a.m. 

While CJ reveled in both staffer's woes, her sweetest hour came when Toby dragged his aching frame into the office the second Sunday of October. His cheeks were flush; dark circles and bags hung under his eyes. His voice, what there was of it, was hoarse. 

***************** _The Oval Office_   
_Saturday, October 12_   
_4 p.m._

Toby sat in the Oval Office, a requested number of feet from the President, as they went over the final draft of his upcoming opening statement for debate with Ritchie. 

"...with a precipice in front of us," the President read then paused. "_A precipice in front_? Are we sure we want to go there? Things might not be all chipper on the polling front, but I don't think we are in that kind of trouble are we?" 

"I'm sorry?" Toby shook his head and attempted to focus. "Is that wording a problem?" 

"Only if we don't want allusions to the second part of the quote," Bartlet said. "Seems rather negative when I'm talking about how far the country has come, don't you?" 

"Second part of what?" Toby asked, flipping through his notepad then glancing at his copy of the speech. There was no second part that he could see. "What are we talking about?" 

"_A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi_," Bartlet said. 

Toby rubbed his head--it was warm to the touch, warm enough to toast a bagel. He stared back at Bartlet and tried to process what he believe were words that had just tumbled over the man's lips, but try as he might Toby could not locate anything that sounded remotely like those words in either his text or in his currently-limited functional use of the English language. 

"This fever must be killing me," Toby said. "Now I know how Governor Ritchie feels when he listens to you. Sir, what did you just say?" 

"_A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi_," Bartlet repeated. "A precipice in front, the wolves behind." 

"In Ritchie-speak, rock meet hard place," Sam offered as he entered the Oval Office and handed Toby a folder. "We saw that in the speech and figured we'd to let you decide on it." 

"We did?" Toby asked. 

"Josh and I did," Sam replied. "It's Eramus, isn't it?" 

"Gerard Didier Eramus, lived from 1495 to 1536," Barlet informed them, striking through the words on his copy. "And no, I do no like the words in this context." 

"I wrote that," Toby said. "I mean, he might have used it first, but I didn't know that. I... I wrote that statement, without any help." 

"That explains why the fourth and sixth paragraphs are the same," Barlet said. "Toby, you're infecting my airspace. Why don't you give up and concede defeat with this cold thing? Take two hours off to be sick. Who knows, you might even drop off into this heavenly new state people have been talking about called sleep. You should try it; I heard there's nothing quite like it to revive the mind and spirit." 

"I'll be sick after we win," Toby said. 

"Interesting victory reaction," Bartlet nodded. 

"We'll all be sick by then," Sam told Toby. "Toby, the President has a valid point." 

"Just one?" Bartlet teased as he continued to read the speech. 

"I meant about Toby's illness, sir," Sam replied. "We're all going to get sick if you keep sharing your germs. Go home." 

"I'm going to die and I want to take you with me," Toby said. 

"Me?" Sam asked then looked at his boss' dower expression. "Of course." 

***************** 

Toby did go home for his recommended two hour nap. It lasted three days. His fever continued to climb and his aches deepened as the cold set further into his head and sinuses. In the end, even CJ felt pity for him. She ordered chicken soup from a Chinese restaurant and strong-armed Josh into delivering it to the ailing speech writer. He did so only after the First Lady again assured him that the common cold--even one as virulent as that consuming Toby--could not be contracted by spending five minutes in the person's presence when not wearing a HazMat suit. 

Toby eventually returned to the office battle weary and more ornery than ever--much to the fear of junior staffers and interns throughout the White House. He was still ailing but functioning. The staff waited with shallow breaths for the next victim of the illness to appear. 

Donna surveyed the pool of likely candidates and found herself dwelling upon one longer than the other. They were working in the afternoon, preparing for a long flight to the west coast that evening. She had seen him rubbing his eyes and heard the dry cough rattling in his chest for two or three days. Her warnings to sleep and take vitamins went unheeded. She, herself, was not feeling 100 percent, but compared to the ghostly paleness of Josh she looked like she had just returned from a trip to the islands. 

***************** _Josh Lyman's Office_   
_October 17_   
_2 p.m._

Donna sat in Josh's office savoring her yogurt and watching a documentary on the Maryland coastline. She was interested in the historical minutia. The program was just getting to the interesting part when the TV snapped off in a wink. 

"Hey, I was watching that!" Donna cried from her seat opposite Josh's desk. 

"Well, I wasn't," Josh said simply as he dropped the remote onto his desk and turned to work on his computer again. 

His lunch--a hopelessly charred hamburger and pile of greasy fries--sat in its Styrofoam container, untouched. Donna noted this with some concern. He had done the same with his breakfast that morning and his lunch the day before as well. 

"Josh!" she pleaded looking at the darkened TV screen. "I wanted to see that." 

"I didn't," he shrugged. "And since it's my TV..." 

"What are you doing now?" she asked. 

He was surfing through files searching for notes on a discussion he and Toby had held a week earlier. He briefly explained this to her as he located the proper document and began reading. 

"Since when can you find anything on your hard drive without my help?" she asked suspiciously. 

"A little news item for you: I can do this stuff," he said. 

"So why do I always have to bail you out at other times?" she asked. 

"Helps me justify your salary," he replied. 

"You can justify my salary?" she remarked. "If you can do that then you're a better politician than I give you credit for being." 

"I'm thinking of adding dictation to your list of duties," he said. 

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked. 

He looked drawn and haggard in a way he hadn't in a long time. She knew he was tired; they all were. But tired was normal for Josh. She knew he didn't sleep well or often, and hadn't (by his own admission) for years. Only now, there were more than just the outside edges of exhaustion in his eyes. They looked hazy; his cheeks looked were ghastly pale, and there was an aura of weariness about him that was different from the sleeplessness hanging around everyone's neck. 

He shrugged her question off. There wasn't time to be sick in his schedule. It was true, he did not feel well: There was a dull ache in his muscles and a throbbing in his temples; his throat was sore and the dry cough he picked up in Minnesota three days earlier was beginning to prevent even short periods of unhindered sleep. 

"You should rest," she suggested. "CJ been sick and Toby's just getting over that horrible cold." 

"Because Toby's been sick, I don't have time to rest," Josh said. "We're still picking up his slack. And don't get me started on CJ; she claims she's tough enough to play this game and then turns into a wimpy, little girl the first time she sneezes. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine." 

"Yeah, and I'm picturing you in bed for a week..." 

"While I'm sure it's a titillating picture for you, I'm not sick, Donna," he cut her off, then shook his head as he realized he had nearly tripped over his own mouth yet again. "I mean... I'm just saying I not going to be sick." 

"And you know this because you have a medical degree from what university again?" 

"I will not be sick," he stated firmly. "I don't have time for it." 

"You know what?" she chided. "I keep forgetting you're the master of the universe and you get to schedule when you'll be felled by illness. Where did I place that memo?" 

"Donna, this is how it works," he informed her. "You push yourself hard, and unfortunately you get run down. A lesser being than I would, of course, surrender and fall victim to pathetic ailments like Toby and CJ. However, I know the trick." 

"There's a trick?" 

"Yes," Josh said haughtily. "I won't get sick until I stop and give myself the chance. These things only get you when you slow down and stop fighting them. That's what happened to Toby. He took a nap on the plane when we left Duluth and by the time we landed Minneapolis, he was sick. It's a matter of stamina." 

"Wow, that's amazing," she said dryly. "Have you called the AMA? Because it sounds like you've found a miracle cure. Who would have guessed that by not eating or sleeping regularly, you could prevent Influenza, the common cold and probably pneumonia?" 

"I'm just saying that's how it works, Donna," he said. "People like you, who coddle yourselves and run to your beds at the first sign of a sniffle, succumb to every little germ you come in contract with. Basic Darwinian Principle: The strong survive. I figure if a bullet didn't get the worst of me, why should I fear something as pathetic as the germs that cause the common cold? I am smarter than them; I am stronger than them. Face it, I am... impervious." 

***************** _Air Force One_   
_Somewhere Over Ohio_   
_October 17, 11:22 p.m._

"How you feeling, Josh?" Danny Kincanon asked as he strolled out of the Press gallery on Air Force One. 

Josh was slumped in his seat shivering as he waited for Donna to return with Tylenol and a glass of water. He looked at Danny, feeling the searing heat in his eyelids from the fever. He mustered his strength to answer. 

"Never better," he said hoarsely. 

"Aw, that sounds like a line," Danny said. "CJ said you're dying. Or no, whining. Yeah, she said you're whining." 

"I don't whine," Josh said. "Don't know how." 

"She says this is Divine retribution for the grief you gave her when she got sick a couple weeks ago," Danny continued. 

"That's absurd," Josh replied. "She's still delirious from her measly cold if she thinks I'm sick. I'm just fine; I'm thinking about asking to fly the plane the rest of the way." 

"There you go," Danny said with gusto. "Women say men are babies when we get sick; they hit us with that whole martyr thing when they get sick, but we know better. We're men. We're tough." 

"As nails," Josh agreed, nodding slowly in his exhaustion. 

Danny nodded deftly once as Donna approached bearing a bottle of water and two packets of pills. The reporter excused himself and disappeared from the cabin. Donna took her seat next to Josh as she opened the bottle and handed him the medication. 

"Here you go," she said softly. "How are you feeling?" 

"Awful," he whimpered as he swallowed the medication. 

"Josh," she sighed. 

"We'll be in a couple hours," she said. "When we get to the hotel, you can get some real rest. Leo is meeting with Sam and Toby now. There is nothing more to do tonight." 

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll be dead by morning." 

"Josh," she said rolling her eyes. 

"Donna, you can't feel this horrible without it being fatal," he told her. 

"Uh huh," she said softly. "So should I ask Sam to pen your eulogy or Toby?" 

"Sam, he'll be nicer," Josh replied. "And see that Leo delivers it. Then see that he gets whatever it was that did me in--but wait until after the election." 

"Sure," she said. "I'll even make sure we remember you fondly at the Inauguration." 

"It's the least you could do," he murmured. 

Sam came down the hallway. He paused as he saw them. Donna was speaking quietly to Josh, who appeared to be asleep except for the occasional nod of his head. 

_This does not look good_, Sam thought. _They're supposed to be…. well, not like this._

"Hey, Donna," Sam said as he approached. "Could I talk to you for a sec?" 

"Now?" she asked. Sam nodded and jerked his head to the side as a signal for her to follow. 

"Hey, Sam," Josh said. "You're writing my eulogy. Use some big, nice words like… like… You know…" 

"I'll break out the new thesaurus," Sam nodded. "Strings of polysyllabics… that rhyme." 

"But make it quotable," Josh pleaded. "I want write ups with good pull quotes in all the major papers." 

Sam shook his head and turned away. For being someone who pretended getting shot didn't affect him, Josh was a wimp when it came to like things like a simple cold. 

"What's going on?" Sam asked. "That looked a little... How's he doing?" 

"He's doing horribly," Donna said sharply. "He needs a break, Sam. He's being a baby right now because he's trying to be funny." 

"That's funny?" 

"I said trying; I didn't say he was being successful," Donna replied. 

"I thought you said he was just being a baby," Sam inquired. 

"He is," she answered in an exasperated way and tried to hide her worry for fear someone might read more into it than professional interest. "He's doing it to make it seem like he's not as sick as he is. It's actually pretty stupid, but it seems to work for him. But despite his act, he is sick, Sam. Just like CJ and Toby were. He'll deny it, but he's got a fever. He needs to get some serious rest or you'll lose him for a week just like you did Toby." 

"There isn't time for any of us to be sick," Sam said, his brow furrowing with concern as he pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. 

"You can't exactly reschedule these things," Donna snapped. "Sam, we're all tired, and we're all going to be in the same boat soon. Let him sleep for the rest of the flight and get checked into the hotel. I think if he gets a couple hours of solid sleep tonight, he can be functioning tomorrow. I don't know how much longer he can last though. You saw what this thing did to the others." 

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Donna, I know he's running on empty. We all are—except Leo and I'm not so sure he's really human. We've got 8 days to go before the debate, and we can't lose a single minute of any of them." 

"You don't let him sleep and you won't have him for a single second of any of them," Donna forecasted. "Millicent wants to see him." 

"The Surgeon General isn't his doctor," Sam pointed out, recalling that the country's top doctor was scheduled to address the health care issues in Oregon around the time of the President's speech and campaign stop. 

"No, but she is a doctor and one that he has a hard time ordering to leave him alone," Donna reminded Sam. "She's seeing him tomorrow morning whether he likes it or not. This thing could be serious if he doesn't take care of it." 

"It's a cold, Donna," Sam reminded her. 

"It's a chest cold that comes with high fevers," Donna scowled. "A bullet played hopscotch in his chest a couple years ago so he's a bit more susceptible to pneumonia than the rest of you. Millicent is seeing him and she will make a judgment. If she says he's to rest, then I'm not going to disagree with her. You can, but then you'll be answering to her and the First Lady." 

Sam sighed and looked over her shoulder again at Josh who was lying back in his seat fidgeting uncomfortably. 

"Are you sure he's really that sick?" Sam said. "I mean, the whining aside, he hasn't said anything to me about not feeling well." 

"Of course, he's not going to tell you," Donna said as she rolled her eyes. 

"But he told you?" Sam surmised. 

"I'm his assistant, Sam," she sighed. "I know everything about him. I know his driver's license number, his social security number; I know his bank account numbers, his blood type; you name it and I know it or have it written down in case I need to know it. He's a high-maintenance kind of guy when it comes to information. But it's given out on a need-to-know basis. You do not have access to this kind of information because you are part of the testosterone club. You're all invincible when you're together." 

"So what are you doing for him?" 

"I'm going to see that he gets some rest," Donna said. "He's been starting and putting out fires for the last three straight, that's 20 hours per day every day of the week, while others have been floundering with every bug and virus ever contracted in this country. Now, it's his turn for some slack." 

Sam nodded as he looked back at Josh. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Well, it's an easy day." 

"His morning is open and you should leave it that way," Donna said. "I think he should take it easy." 

Donna returned to her charge, who was not longer resting but slouching in his seat locked in a discussion with Leo. 

***************** _The Governor Hotel_   
_Portland, Oregon_   
_9:15 pm PST_

Donna quickly made her way down the 3rd floor hall. She didn't want it to appear to the average passer-by that something was wrong, but something was. Against her and the First Lady's wishes, Josh had decided to attend the conference in nearby Salem, despite the fever and chills that he had been experiencing aboard Air Force One. Donna could see it in Josh's face that he had caught the virus that had sidelined CJ and Toby. She was highly worried that Josh would continue to ignore the signs that his body was giving him and it would eventually land him in the hospital. 

She sighed as she rounded the corner of the hallway. Part of her was doing this because her boss was ill and wouldn't take care of himself; but the other part – a part that was growing larger by the week – wanted the man she cared for to get better. 

Donna stopped at her destination, Room 325. She rapped three times on the door. 

"Good evening, Donna," Dr. Millicent Griffith smiled. The Surgeon General was in Oregon to be a part of the President's panel on pediatric care at Salem Hospital. "What can I do for you?" 

"I'm…I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Griffith," Donna apologized. "But I need you, or rather your medical expertise. See, I'm not that familiar with many signs of diseases and I figured that since the President made you Surgeon General, that…well that you were." 

The doctor tilted her head and looked at Donna. "Do you need something? Are you feeling okay because you certainly don't look that well." 

"I'm a little stressed," Donna answered. "I've got a lot going on. With the election and covering for Bonnie last week and Carol the week before and I may have caught a tiny strain of it and…" 

Millicent cut her off. "Okay. I get it. You needed a doctor." 

"Yes, but I'm not the one I'm here about," Donna said swiftly. 

"Josh?" Millicent offered. "I figured you'd be by. Abbey filled me in when we had dinner. He's going to run himself into the ground if he's not careful." 

"That's why I'm here," Donna explained. "He stopped whining hours ago, which isn't a good sign. He's got a very vocal aversion to hospitals." 

"Understandable," Millicent nodded. 

"Right," Donna continued. "He denies it, but he's got a fever and I can see he's shivering." 

"That's all part of this cold thing," the doctor replied calmly. 

"I know," Donna said. "But it's more than just a cold. Josh can barely keep his eyes open and I think he's delirious." 

"Delirious?" questioned the Surgeon General. "How so?" 

"He said he doesn't want to watch the Mets game and that Tucker Carlson is a nice guy." 

"I'll be there in five minutes," Millicent replied promptly.   


  


************ 

Donna entered Josh's room. Her eyes instantly noted a problem. Josh was not where she left him. She had commanded he lay down and rest. The only thing on the bed was his suit jacket. Donna turned to see him hunched over a laptop computer on the writing desk beside the window. 

"What are you doing?" she asked rushing to the desk. "Josh, get back in bed." 

"This has to get done," he said obstinately. "It'll only take a minute." 

His ashen complexion, the glaze over his eyes and his voice sounded meager. Donna placed the underside of her wrist on his forehead and felt the burning sensation. 

"Josh, stop," she pleaded. "You've got a fever; you'll make yourself even sicker." 

"I just need to do this," he said. "It should have been done yesterday, and I need to get the polling numbers for that district in California. Toby needs to see the second analysis." 

"Let Toby do it," she said, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands off the keys. "Josh, please." 

He heard the tension in her voice, and he could see the worry in her eyes. She was tired. He knew she wasn't feeling well either. She was standing beside the chair, pleading with him and ordering him in the same instant. 

"Okay," he said. "On one condition." 

"You're in no position to bargain considering your condition," she said, but her tone said differently. 

"My condition?" Josh smirked. "Am I pregnant?" 

"Josh." 

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion. 

"You're going to see a doctor," Donna said quickly as she stood and moved toward the door. 

"No," he said firmly. 

"Josh, you're going to," she informed him. "The Surgeon General is here now." 

"You went to Millicent?" 

Donna nodded. "I told you if you didn't get better that I was going to get reinforcements." 

Josh groaned wandered to the bed to sit, convinced these women were on his mother's payroll somehow. 

"You can argue your medical expertise with her now," Donna said, opening the door and letting the doctor enter. 

"You're not good at taking care of yourself, you know that, Josh?" Millicent smiled. 

"Odd how I don't appreciate your bedside manner," he said. 

"Just as odd as the fact I could care right now," the doctor said. "Let's take a look at you, shall we?" 

She conducted a cursory examination of his eyes, throat and lymph nodes. She checked his pulse and his blood pressure. 

"One-thirty over 72," he guessed. 

"One-forty over 80," she informed him removing the cuff, and then turned to Donna. "He's going to live." 

"What a shock," he said flatly. 

"However, " Millicent said as she rose and made her way over to the dresser across from the bed. "You do have a nasty bug and will probably have walking pneumonia if it goes unchecked much longer. I'll call one of my colleagues at the hospital here and get you in first thing tomorrow. You need a chest film and some antibiotics." 

Donna let out a tentative sigh of relief and sat down on the bed beside Josh. He hung his head in defeat. If he was one for crying, he knew he'd certainly be doing it. He felt horrible; he was exhausted and there was yet another round of doctors to be seen. 

"I'm leaving you the name and number of a colleague of mine," Millicent said, looking into the mirror to see the two of them in an unguarded private moment. 

Donna had draped her arm around Josh's shoulders. She then kissed him softly on the cheek and mouthed the words "it's okay" to him as she clasped his hand in his briefly. 

"I'll... uh.... I'll be calling you in a few minutes, Josh," Millicent continued, keeping her back to them. "I'll let you know when they can see you in the morning--I'll get you in early. It shouldn't take long. It's just a precaution. Get some rest." 

"Sure," he said. "Thanks." 

"Yes," Donna said, standing quickly and seeing her to the door. "Thank you Dr. Griffith. Sorry to bother you." 

"Oh, no bother," Millicent said. "I'm glad... he's got you." 

Donna closed the door and the Surgeon General placed a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. As she turned, she saw Charlie approaching. 

"Is Josh in there?" he asked. 

"Yes." 

"The First Lady tried to call him, but the phone goes right to the mailbox," Charlie explained. "She wanted to know if he was doing any better." 

"Well, he's not," Millicent said, fighting a grin. "But he's in good hands. Donna's with him." 

"Oh," Charlie nodded and shared a knowing look with her. "I see." 

"You do, huh?" 

"I know nothing," Charlie said innocently. 

"Well, when I tell Abbey, I'm telling her that you know," Millicent said as she started down the hall. 

"You're telling the First Lady?" Charlie gaped as he followed her back toward the elevators. "Isn't that a breech of some medical ethics code?" 

"It's gossip not medicine, besides it's not like she doesn't already know," Millicent said. "She told me weeks ago that she suspected it."   
  
  
  
  


**Up next: _The League of Ordinary Nations_ (Chapter 23)**


	23. The League Of Ordinary Nations

**Title**: **THE QUEST:** _**The League of Ordinary Nations **(Chapter 23)_   
**Authors**: **Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247**   
**Webpage**: **http://wing_nuts.tripod.com**   
  
  
  


***************** **From**: MRogers@oriolesbaseball.com   
**To**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
**Date**: 10/13/2002 3:47:52 PM Eastern Daylight Time   
**Sub**: The Time Has Come 

_Yankee! Why aren't you glued to your desk, like you normally are? Donna told me that you were sent to the Hill to scare some Congressman. Ever my humble Joshua. Now, while I'd love to sit here and ramble on and on about the world according to Josh Lyman, I have something more important to write._

_Two words - World Series._

_I know you're rolling your eyes right now. I should remind you that the Orioles swept the A's and took the Yankees in five. I think that if any team should be trying on that glass slipper it's yours._

_And that catcher, Mike What's-his-name? He couldn't find second base even if it was a foot in front of him. My base runners will be running on him all inning long. I hope he's exercised enough; that constant up and down can give the thighs quite a workout._

_Oh, the National Anthem singer for Game 4: Tony Bennett. Throwing out the first pitch of Game 1: Cal Ripken, Jr._

_I'll be thinking of you when we spank the Mets. Take care of yourself. I'll send you a World Champion Baltimore Orioles shirt in two weeks._

_Marilyn_

**************** 

**From**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
**To**: MRogers@oriolesbaseball.com   
**Date**: 10/14/02 13:52 PM Eastern Daylight Time   
**Sub**: Re: The Time Has Come 

_What type of medication do they give you to deal with these delusions?_

_ The fact remains, sweetheart, that your team's going to get trounced. I submit to you back-to-back sweeps of the Giants and Cardinals. The Mets are more rested than your Birds. As for Mike PIAZZA? Thirty-six home runs, 102 RBIs. Power over finesse wins every time—it's a basic principle of the universe. Also, least I forget, the pitching of the Mets has a two point ERA average lower than yours._

_Be checking your mail. In it you'll find a pumpkin because the clock will hit midnight before you even know it._

_You will soon owe me and all Mets fans an apology. However, I will settle for you wearing a Mets cap the next time you visit my office. By the way, planners here are asking Tony to sing at the Inaugural Ball in January, and I've already met Cal--tell him I said hello and thank him again for managing us at the softball game._

_If you catch a hint of something in the air, that would be the sweet smell of New York sweep on the horizon._

_Don't forget to vote._

_--Josh_

***************** 

_The White House_   
_October 23_   
_7:46 p.m._

"Ooo, very nice," Debbie Fiderer whistled lowly as Charlie ambled into the office adjusting his cufflinks. "If you were looking to take me out, I'm just not dressed for it." 

"Well, there go my plans," the President's Aide said. 

"Do you like these things?" she asked. 

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no," Charlie informed her. "Tonight won't be so bad. The best high school musicians in the country are gathered here in Washington to play a selection of American works. I think I can handle it." 

"Lots of Gershwin," the President's Executive Secretary surmised. 

"That and Soussa," he added. 

"It looks like the zombie zoo goes to the opera in the halls tonight," Debbie remarked as Sam passed by the doorway stifling a yawn. 

"Yeah, well, it'll all be over soon," Charlie remarked. 

"I just started this job," she said. "They'd better win because I don't really want to update my resume again so soon." 

"I'll pass that along," Charlie said as he walked toward the Oval Office. 

***************** _The Oval Office_

"I suppose it's the preferred way to spend the evening," Toby sighed as he rubbed his brow. 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay home and watch Game 6?" Bartlet grinned. 

Toby was taking the knowledge that his beloved Yankees lost to Baltimore in the American League Championship Series stoically. His non-reaction to the reaction to the ALCS finale was more than enough cause for the rest of the staff to keep him highly informed at all possible moments of the status of the World Series. Baltimore was at home that evening, trailing two games to three. 

"If there was a game worth watching, I would," Toby replied as Charlie entered the room. "As it is, I'm not sure the Series is even being played. There's a law on the books some place, I'm sure, that if a New York team wins they have to be named the Yankees." 

"The Mets are still the underdog for the game," Charlie informed him. "They might lose." 

"Please that god wills it," Toby shook his head. "Josh's waving the sports page at me and grinning every morning is unnerving. He's going tonight?" 

"Yes," Bartlet said as he pulled on his jacket. "He's talking with Senator Bell about Montana." 

"So he's missing the game?" 

"Yeah," Bartlet nodded. 

"Sir, I don't know that you had anything to do with this, and I'm sure that it had nothing to do with providing me with immeasurable personal pleasure, but thank you," Toby grinned as he followed the President out of the room. "I hope his VCR doesn't work." 

"You're all heart, Toby," Charlie smirked. 

***************** 

_John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts_   
_9:45 p.m._

"Donna!" Josh yelled as he made his way through the crowd on the rooftop terrace; he was stopped every fifteen feet by attendees of the night's symphony performance, wishing him and the Bartlet administration well on the upcoming elections. He nodded his thanks and yelled her name again. Donna, clad in a royal blue velvet dress, made no motion of acknowledgement. She tucked a wayward strand of her platinum blond locks behind her ear, then gently touched her French twist to see if it was still locked in place. 

He reached her side and touched her arm. "Didn't you hear me?" 

"I did," she replied, still not looking at him. She had begged Josh to let her attend the performance, and she wasn't about to have it ruined. "I chose to ignore it. I'd rather look at the Lincoln Memorial. It's so beautiful at night." 

Josh glanced over at the beautifully lit memorial and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, nice." 

"What do you need?" 

Josh moved to face her and pointed to his tie, which was beginning to unravel; he gave her his best dimpled smile. 

"Honestly," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You think with so many formal affairs you attend, you'd be able to tie this thing." 

"Then what would you do?" he asked as he slightly grinned. 

"I'd be enjoying myself," she replied, returning his grin. "Josh, what is this?" 

She spied a dark wire, as dark as his jacket, under the lapel of his coat. She pulled the fabric back to reveal a small case, the size of a credit card and a little over twice as thick tucked in the breast pocket of the jacket. She pulled the wire out to reveal a tiny earphone. 

"Change jobs?" she asked. "Is it Special Agent Lyman now?" 

"It's an... ear thing," he said as he snatched back the gadget and tucked it away. 

"Josh." 

"Donna, it's a game," he said. 

"Yeah." 

"An important game... to me," Josh said. "If I didn't have to be here at this thing, which I technically no longer do, know where I'd be?" 

"In the office brooding over the media impact of probably not winning New Hampshire's electoral votes?" 

"Yeah, but I'd have a TV with the game on in a distant corner," he brooded. "They're up 5-1." 

"The Mets?" 

"Yeah," he said, switching on the small radio again and resuming his sereptious listening. "It's the bottom of the fifth. Could you maybe...." 

He gestured to his loose tie. Donna rolled her eyes then finished retying the tie and pulled it tight, fighting the urge to cinch it just a bit tighter to show him her playful ire. It was the only thought that crowded out the urge to caress his chest or rest her head on his shoulder to fully enjoy the magnificent setting. 

"Is it fixed?" he asked tersely, ruining her dreamy moment. 

"Of course," she answered. "All nice and new." 

"Thanks," Josh said as he moved away to stand beside her. 

"Hey," Sam said approaching in stealth mode. 

"Hey," Josh said not really listening. 

"He's busy with the national pastime," Donna informed the speech writer. 

"Yeah, I saw that," Sam said. "I commend you on your slick use of 1980s technology. A word of caution, though. You're not exactly in the good graces of some people here this evening. You might want to stop writhing in your seat every time there's a close play at second. Dead giveaway that you're not listening to Porgy and Bess." 

Josh nodded. He knew what Sam meant. His relationship with the President was in a holding pattern. Things weren't worse--and that was the good news. He staffed the President's days as he had always done, but there was no non-work conversation most days between meetings. His questions to Josh were slightly sharper and his disagreements with his advisor's appraisals more vehement. It was not a good situation. Something needed the change soon or things would become unproductive. Josh was afraid he'd be forced to start updating his resume. 

"Did you see who's here?" Sam asked. 

"I did," Donna smirked. "They're called people." 

"He meant Menken," Josh informed her. "Senator Joseph 'You'll-Never-Win-My-State' Menken. I told you he'd show, Sam. I told Toby that he'd come; that he'd smile and that he'd say it." 

"Did he?" 

"Yes, he said it," Josh grinned. "He said, the President has my support. He knows that he's got a battle for his seat and he's trying to suck up to us now." 

"You called it alright," Donna droned. "You're a regular gypsy." 

"I prefer '_professional_,'" he nodded in assurance. 

A well-dressed usher appeared and announced that the orchestra would resume shortly. The crowd made their way towards the elevator and began filing in. 

"I'd prefer not to get a lecture for getting back to my seat late," Sam said and nodded towards the bank of elevators as patrons were streaming back into the Center. "Donna, Mrs. Bennett--the conductor's wife--said she'd like to speak with you about a benefit or something." 

"Right," Donna nodded. "It's a literacy thing the First Lady asked me to help with; I'm sitting with Mrs. Bennett during the rest of the concert." 

"Great," Sam nodded as he took an available space in a descending car. 

_Josh and Donna on separate levels of the Kennedy Center and Josh preoccupied with the election and the World Series, _Sam thought_. Nearly all is well with the world._

Josh took one last breath of the crisp evening air then switched off his radio. He'd catch the highlights on SportsCenter when he got home. 

He and Donna were among the last to leave the terrace. They grabbed an elevator by themselves. 

"I called it," he said, straightening his tie unnecessarily. "I'm on my game, Donna. Finally hitting my stride. Seeing… you know… things. Prognostication. It's an art when you do it this well." 

"You can predict things?" Donna observed strategically as the doors closed and the car began to descend. 

"Of course," Josh proclaimed. "I'm a visionary, Donna. A prognosticator. I'm in tune with things again. Nothing is going to slip by me now. I'll see it ten steps ahead of it getting here." 

Donna nodded and smoothed her dress then turned and grabbed Josh's lapels. She kissed him quickly, parting just seconds before the elevator chimed and came to a stop. She pulled away and wiped her lipstick off his lips. 

"Did you predict that?" she asked, exiting the elevator. 

Josh stared blankly ahead, flabbergasted as to what just transpired. 

"Josh." 

"Huh?" he remarked, biting his lip briefly. 

"Get out of the elevator," she ordered. "You can't ride it for the rest of night." 

Josh shook himself into reality and exited the car. 

"Okay." 

***************** 

_Manchester, NH_   
_Tuesday, November 5_   
_Election Day_   
_4:20 a.m._

Josh shook himself awake, his heart hammering and his hands shaking. He felt disoriented as he scanned the room. For a moment, he was certain the windows were in the wrong place. 

_A hotel room_, he told himself. _I'm in New Hampshire. It's Tuesday._

It was still an inky pitch outside; dawn was not yet upon the northern town. Josh sat in the darkness, knowing if he closed his eyes he would not fall asleep again. He wasn't certain what had awakened him; he had no recollection of a dream and from the quiet permeating the darkness he did not believe any noise had roused him either. He hated waking like this: alone and restless. He had done it often as a child--finding himself suddenly awake in the still blackness of his room and feeling as though he was about to bolt for the door, yet he was not scared. It was as though he had received a shot of adrenaline for no purpose. 

_Nothing more can be done_, he thought as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. _I've done all I can do._

_But it wasn't my best; I gave it everything I had, but it still wasnt't my best. I've done better work on less important campaigns. I just couldn't get out of my own way some days. That's not like me. I mean, it is, but never for something this important. Maybe I'm losing my touch, if I ever really had one.... Yeah, I did. I'm good at this. Leo is good, too, and he trusts me. The President trusts Leo. So by extension... No. I mean, that doesn't matter. This isn't about me. This is about 265 million other people today._

_ Wait, did I vote?_

He was gripped by a momentary terror that he had forgotten to mail his absentee ballot before leaving Washington. Then he recalled dropping it in Donna's Out Basket a week earlier. It was the medication he was taking, he realized, that was making him agitated and disturbing his sleep. Antibiotics did that to him. Still, it was better than coming down with pneumonia. Because, with that would have come more than just the ills of being ill. With that would have also come the lecture from the First Lady. Abigail Bartlet knew how to give a lecture. Josh relaxed as he noted he would not be getting one from her any time soon. 

_Hell, if we lose today, she might even thank me._

He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was 3:25 a.m. He kicked off the covers and headed to the shower. There was a quick trip to make before his work day began. 

***************** 

_Hotel Lobby_   
_4:55 a.m._

Toby flipped the newspaper over and read the previous day's headlines. He was now reading the newsworthy not-so-relevant news briefs from abroad. Europe's idea of frivilous yet interesting news left much to be desired. The most interesting of the dull stories was a tired headline from Norway. The town of Hell was hit with a sudden and unexpected ice storm and had frozen over. 

_ A cold day in Hell? Amateurs. Our Joey Butafucco's and Lorena Bobbit's beat the pants off you everytime. God bless America._

Toby stroked his brow tossed the paper aside to resume reading the faxes he received from the California precincts late the previous evening. There was no change. They would win California. He knew that. But he was still concerned. They weren't going to win it by as much as he predicted. Though that didn't necessarily mean anything, it didn't mean nothing either. 

"Hey," Josh said as he approached him from the stairs. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"Why are you awake?" Toby asked, looking at his watch with concern. 

"Because I'm not sleeping," Josh said. "I need a favor from you." 

"Oh god," Toby groaned softly. "Do we need to have a private chat? Josh, I swear to god whatever it is, you can't be the only one inside. Not today. I need to know everything--I mean, everything--no matter what it is or who told you to keep it quiet." 

"Well," Josh leaned in conspiratorially, "you know Ed was hanging back last night when we left the pub?" 

"Yeah," Toby said guardedly. 

"CJ thinks he asked that waitress back to his room last night," Josh nodded. 

"You know, I've never liked you or your sense of humor half as much as you think I do," Toby snarled. "What did you want?" 

"Keys," Josh said, holding out his palm. "For the car you rented at the airport. I gotta go talk at someone." 

"Yeah?" Toby remarked, fishing the set from his pocket. "Who do you have to see?" 

"I'm not going to see anyone," Josh answered truthfully. 

"I'm sorry?" Toby said confusedly. "You just said you're going to talk to someone. Are you going to be blindfolded so you don't see them? This is not the kind of thing I need happening today." 

"Actually, I said I was going to go talk _at_ someone," Josh corrected him. "Don't worry about it. It's not a thing. Just... a personal matter I need to talk care of." 

"Personal?" 

"Yeah, that's the part of our lives that happens outside the office when we are not working," Josh explained. 

"I don't understand." 

"I'll have Sam make up flashcards and explain it to you someday," Josh replied. "I don't always understand it myself, but once you've got the basic premise down..." 

"You're breathing my air," Toby growled and waved off further explanation. "Hey, how far away are you going to be?" 

"Not too far," Josh said mildly. 

"You know what today is?" 

"Donna usually keeps track of that for me," he said. 

"I would think you of all people would understand why today is not a day for levity," Toby sighed. 

"Yeah, I recall that a lot of people who don't like us are voting in a few hours," Josh answered, seeing no need to point out that there was nothing left for the team to do but wait. "That's why I will be back here as quickly as possible. But in order to do that I should leave now." 

"How long will you be... wherever? We've got Stimmetz at seven this morning." 

"Right," Josh nodded, concentrating to keep the trembles in his hands under control as he took the keys. "I'll be late for that, but Sam is here. You don't really need me anyway." 

"The President is going to ask..." 

"Toby." 

"Josh, he's gonna ask and..." 

"He's not going to ask," Josh replied. "He's not going to be at the meeting. You are going to brief Leo about it and he will brief the President. If he asks, he'll ask Leo, but he won't ask because this meeting is nothing more than a grip and grin." 

"Yeah," Toby nodded. "Just.... Shouldn't you let someone know where you're going in case... Does Donna know where..." 

"Leo will know," Josh said as he took the keys. "And Danny." 

"The Washington Post knows, but you won't tell me," Toby remarked. "That means it's either the end of your career or something that no one cares about." 

"Lately, they're nearly the same thing," Josh shrugged then nodded to his colleague. "Car's in the side lot?" 

"Yeah," Toby said. "Josh?" 

"I might be back before you finish with Stimetz," he answered striding purposefully out the door. 

***************** _Bartlet for America Headquarters_   
_5:30 a.m._

"Who's idea was it to get donuts?" CJ asked, grabbing an oozing jelly filled one from the box. 

"Donna's," Charlie responded. 

"Are you heading to the Farm now?" 

"Yeah, in five minutes," he replied. "I told Donna I'd help see that breakfast got here for you guys." 

"Is she here?" CJ asked, looking around and seeing Josh's hovel of an office dark and empty. 

"Not right now," he said. 

"I left a message for her last night and she didn't get back to me," CJ said. "I was wondering if she got it or not." 

"Well," Charlie paused and considered his next words carefully. "Would it be a problem if she hadn't gotten the message?" 

"Yeah," CJ said, licking her fingers. "It would mean that my message was ignored by a desk clerk. That kind of bruises the ego, you know?" 

"Maybe she didn't go to her room last night," Charlie said strategically and watched her carefully for a reaction. 

"Did she spend the night in Josh's room?" CJ asked, rather loudly. 

Charlie noted that no one--except Sam--appeared to register the remark. To everyone else, her words meant nothing. S, sitting at a desk assigned to Ginger, went rigid as she spoke. Charlie swiveled his eyes back to the Press Secretary who seemed as unconcerned about her words as the rest of the room was. 

"Well, I don't...," Charlie began. 

"If he kept her up all night reciting those stupid polling numbers to him ad nauseum, I'm having him committed," CJ said. "He mugs Toby for some car keys before dawn and probably leaves her sleeping at a desk in his room. I'm thinking its time we have a court officially declare that he's not human." 

Charlie grinned and relaxed. Sam seemed to do the same as he sunk into his newspaper. Charlie was pleased. CJ was either clueless about the alternative interpretation of his question or she simply didn't care. Either was good in his book. However, it did raise a question for him: Where were Josh and Donna at that moment? 

**************** **From**: Donnatella.Moss@whitehouse.gov   
**To**: music_lady@yahoo.com   
**Date**: 11/5/2002 5:42:36 AM Eastern Daylight Time   
**Sub**: Good Morning! 

_Good morning, Anna!_

_Happy Election Day to you. I just wanted you to know that I have saved your new email address in Josh's address book so he'll know how to reach you. He has a hard time recalling that you live in Florida. I think it's asking too much to have him learn another new "location" for you right now ._

_We're in Manchester for the big day. I must admit to you that I am nervous. Josh, I'm sure, has told you his thoughts on today. He's been very quiet the last three or four days. I mean, quiet when he's in his office or in meetings. Part of that is the dregs of vocal cord strain from the Mets win a week or so ago. It's just disgusting when he's feeling superior and letting everyone within ear shot know it._

_He'll be calling you later--I'll make sure of it. He got an early start today, apparently. He left me with 800 tasks to do when we arrived in town last night and I haven't seen him since. He was kind enough to let me sleep in--meaning he left a message with the front desk that I wanted a wake up call at 5 a.m. I half expect him to be pounding on my door any second._

_Well, I should get going. Just wanted to say hello. Don't forget to vote. I know you told Josh your mind was made up about who you would support. He's not mad--no matter how much he sputters about it._

_--Donna_

***************** _Connecticut_   
_7 a.m._

The landscape was so peaceful--too peaceful for Josh. A chilly wind out of the northeast hissed through the bare treetops and the gray flannel sky threatened to cry icy tears. Josh stood before the granite markers, staring at the words etched in the smooth faces. He had placed the second smooth rock--this the sleek, black, shiny one he found outside the hotel in Tel Aviv a year earlier--atop the gravestone. Beside it, on the smaller marker, sat the pale pink rock he found on the beach in Miami. 

He shook his head as he ran his finger over the letters of her name. He remembered so little of her--her voice was lost to him as was the color of her eyes and sound of her laughter. But he remember pink was her favorite color, the color of a sweater he vaguely recalled her wearing and the color of the curtains in her room--the one she never wanted him to enter. Josh stood then folded his arms and tucked his hands beneath them to keep warm as the dregs of an unexpectedly chilly storm front swept through New England. 

"I never remember weather like this," said an unfamiliar voice suddenly beside him. 

Josh looked at the man startled. The man was of such a slight build that the wind could surely knock him down if he turned just so. He was bald in a Friar Tuck sort of way, fringes of wiry gray and silver hair ringed over his ears and the back of his head. His face was creased and of such a pale color he could easily have been in one of the graves rather than visiting them. He stooped when he stood but when fully upright might have roughly been Josh's height. Josh guessed his age to be easily in the late seventies, but his eyes were another story. They were the brightest, shiniest blue Josh had even seen--like electrified sapphires--and were more animated for their sparkle than the leaves dancing on the wind around them. 

"I'm sorry?" Josh said after a moment, staring at the man as though he was an apparition. 

"Oy, I hear everyone always remembers weather from their youth as though it was so much wilder," the man said. He spoke with a thick accent that was a combination of New York and a centuries-old Jewish community. "The snow was 10 times deeper, they say. The summers were so much hotter and longer, they say. The wind was so much colder, they say. Ah! They don't know where of they speak." 

"I guess," Josh shrugged still staring. 

"You must be as crazy as I am," the man said, grinning with a pair of pristine false teeth. "To be in a place like this, in weather like this. Oy, a couple of nut jobs is what we are. I'm Solomon Roth. Call me Saul." 

"Josh," the perplexed deputy said offering his hand and a questioning grin molded on the one of the man before him. 

"Josh?" Saul said as he pumped the hand; his bony digits were much stronger than his appearance. The man suddenly cocked and eyebrow and looked at Josh sharply. "Not Joshua? I think maybe only to your mother... maybe your wife, too. It's in the eyes." 

Josh stood still and said nothing, uncertain how to respond. 

"I came here to see my Mirna," Saul said, gesturing to a plot with a fresh bouquet being battered by the breeze. "Thirty-four years together and one of her last wishes was to get as far away from our home as she could. Didn't want to be buried in Queens or Flatbush--and who could blame her? We drove through here once--the last time the doctors thought the cancer was in remission--and she said it was nice here. So when the time came, I found this place again. I come here when I can't stand other places any more--that's more and more often lately. I'll be pitching a tent right beside her soon to wait for my reservation to come up." 

The man laughed dryly at the joke. Josh wasn't certain how funny it was, but the chuckle in the man's throat was infectious. Josh smirked in return, waiting for Saul to recover from his moment of mirth. 

"Family?" Saul asked, gesturing to the larger gravestone beside Josh. 

"Yeah, he was my father," Josh informed him. 

"Was?" Saul repeated. "He still is. Nothing changes that. I still wear my wedding ring because I still have a wife. Mirna isn't here with me any longer, but she's still my wife. She always will be. Just like he'll always be your father. And this? A sister maybe? Oy, she was young. Poor girl. Was it sickness?" 

"An accident," Josh said softly. "A fire." 

"Ah," Saul said, looking at Josh and nodding. "You still see it, though. Still, so long ago. That's the difference between today and yesterday. Years ago, when something was in the past, it stayed there. Today, the past never goes away. And that's a shame. It prevents the future from blossoming or exploding--whichever. It's just fear people have. Everything changes so fast, they say. Well, they don't know anything--I've proven that with their theories about the weather, eh? Everything changes at the same speed it always did; it's just that no one lets the past alone. That is an incredible fear of the future, wouldn't you say?" 

"I don't know," Josh shrugged. 

"You can do better than that," Saul chided. "You're a college man. You know. We all know. There's too much fear in the world. Everyone's afraid for the economy, for the environment. They're afraid of diseases, and of law suits and of terrorism. The truth is that world is actually a much safer place than it has ever been. There is medicine to cure more sicknesses than ever before, and there is media to spread as many versions of the truth you could think of and as for safety... Let someone waltz into the center of Manhattan and set off a nuclear weapon. I think that's rather humane, if you look at how people have been wiped out in the past. Suffering has existed since the dawn of time. It's this fear we have of everything else that won't let us get past it. Life is about choices: Some are bad and some are good, and some are both at the same time. So be it. Make one and move on to the next. My daughter thinks I'm crazy, but I can tell you the meaning of life: There isn't one. And that's a good thing. You play the game and you take a chance. You win; you lose; you play again or you sit down. It's very simple." 

"Yeah," Josh said, mulling over the words of his strange companion. "What did you do for a living?" 

"You can't tell?" Saul grinned. "A little of this, a lot more of that. I started in advertising. Started with this little firm called Myers and Lebowitz. Of course, there was no Myers or Lebowitz by the end of the first year, but I had business cards so I kept the name; I worked in an apartment on 14th Street back in '49. Then... well, I moved on. In the end, maybe I changed the way the whole world thinks, but no one knows my name. And that's okay with me." 

"Okay," Josh nodded, and then turned to leave, offering the man his hand again. "I should be going. It was a... pleasure, Saul." 

"I think you mean that," Saul said with a sly wink. 

Josh grinned weakly then turned away. He was nearing his car, when he heard the voice beckon to him again. Josh turned to face the man one last time. 

"Oh, Mr. Lyman," Saul called. "The President hasn't lost Saul Roth's vote." 

"What?" Josh asked, looking at the man in surprise. "What did.... How do you know who I...." 

"They say my great grandmother was actually a Romany gypsy," Saul cut him off with a shrug. "But you know what I think about what they say." 

***************** _Bartlet for America Headquarters_   
_Manchester, NH_   
_7:35 p.m._

"So is it ours or not?" Toby asked tersely into the phone or the third time. "Yeah, I know it's close. Normally you're prepared to call the state with less than seven percent of the votes counted so..." 

"Who is he talking to?" Josh asked Sam. 

"Mike at Global," Sam answered, cradling a phone with his shoulder. "He wants to know about Ohio." 

"Toby," Josh said sternly, catching the man's attention. "Hang up." 

"Not until I get..." 

"We lost it," Josh said firmly. 

"You're sure?" Toby asked. 

As an answer, Josh pointed to the magnetic board behind the bank of desks showing a map of the United States. Ohio was on the board with a few other states. It was, however, up there in red--the color of the Republican challenger. 

"Thanks, Mike," Toby said and replaced the phone then turned to Josh again. "You're sure?" 

"It's gone, Toby," Josh said then focused on the binder in his lap. 

The book was much battered--having been through many election nights. It contained a variety of information. Every conceivable Electoral math equation Bruno could conceive in the recent weeks; names and numbers of district "captains" in the most contested areas of the country and a variety of policy memos as to how the campaign was to be run. Keeping hardcopies of such things was rare in the electronic age, but Josh liked having being able to physically put his hands on a document should electricity become scared--it had happened before. And it was happening again, from all reports coming out of Pennsylvania. A blustery nor'easter was whipping through that state during the day and causing power outages. Sam was working the phones to determine if the weather was playing hinky with voting. There were suspicions only--nothing confirmed. 

Josh found himself eerily calm. Well, calm compared to many others in the office. CJ was bantering with the press, but her jitters were obvious in her restlessness. Leo was sedate, as expected, but Toby and Sam were agitated and fraying at the edges. Not a good sign, Josh thought as he looked at the clock. There was still a ways to go before the night got interesting. 

Josh pondered the big board. He had looked through Bruno's derivations many times. He shook his head. None of them were correct. 

That's where the final elements in his election binder became interesting. At the back was a briefing memo of sorts--something he'd written on a historical precedent--and a copy of specific sections of the US Constitution. He leafed through the memo. It was more of a legal brief, actually. He hadn't written one in years, but he had done his research on this one. It was written like it was to be presented in court in support of a motion. He hoped it wouldn't be needed, but it was better to be prepared than to rely on hope. 

Josh leaned back in his chair and began reading the brief again. He'd know if he needed it no later than 10 p.m. 

***************** _Bartlet farm_   
_9:43 p.m._

"How's it going?" Bartlet asked, keeping much but not all of the anxiousness from his voice. 

Leo was with the President at his farm--roughly 20 minutes from the campaign's main offices in the business district of Manchester. It was a dark and chilly night. He could feel the winter creeping through the air and he didn't like it. Cold in New England was always colder than other places in the country and Leo was never sure why. He thought it must be the clean air. 

"Yeah, I just talked to Bruno," Leo said. "It's going about the same. We're ahead in the popular vote, and we've swapped a few times with the electoral votes. We're up right now, but they've flip-flopped Pennsylvania a couple times." 

"What's the story with the power?" 

"Sam says our people in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia are up in arms about the tallying," Leo replied. "It's flawed because the check sheets showing how many people showed up to vote don't match the vote tallies coming out of the machines. Even the exit polling is more accurate right now. They closed the polls a few hours ago, but the governor is considering declaring a state of emergency because of the roads in some places. So, it'll probably be morning before that one is resolved." 

"Thanks," Bartlet said, sliding his arms into his jacket. "I meant is the power back on and if not when will it be. There are a lot of people in the dark there tonight, Leo." 

"Yeah," Leo agreed and shook his head. "They're going to brief you on all this when we get to town. Sam has all the stuff on the power." 

"Enlightenment is a good thing," Bartlet proclaimed as he breezed down the hall. 

"Whatever," Leo said, grabbing his jacket and following the President. 

***************** _Bartlet For America Headquarters_   
_10:14 p.m._

"Good evening, Mr. President," Donna called as Bartlet entered the main room of the office. "I trust you had a good dinner with your family." 

"Indeed I did, Donna," Bartlet said pleasantly. "Keeping things under control here?" 

"Doing my best, sir," she replied and went back to her area to deal with the fistful of phone messages Josh had handed her minutes before. 

Leo surveyed the room. The bustle of Election Night was one of the wonders of the world in his mind. A sea of chaos to the untrained eye, it was a study of focus and order to the initiated. He looked at his troops. They were on phones and computers and oblivious to the fact that it was nearly 70 degrees in the room and none had likely eaten since lunch. 

_This is living, _he thought. 

"Josh!" he called across the room. 

Josh cut through the tangle of people surrounding his area with surgical precision to arrive promptly. He was sporting a look that Leo needed defined. 

"We need to talk," Josh said simply. 

"First, brief the President," Leo commanded. 

"No," Josh said. "Leo, I... We need to talk." 

**************** _President's Private Office_   
_Bartlet For America Headquarters_   
_10:23 p.m._

"We're waiting for the numbers now," Sam said. "There were three major power fluctuations across the state. The place is turning into Hell in February. The Governor declared a state of emergency 20 minutes ago. The weather forecast for the rest of the night is for still colder temperatures, but the winds should be dying down." 

"Well, that's something at least," Bartlet said, looking at the clock on the wall. "Thank you, Sam. So, anyone know where Leo and my briefing are or did I come all the way out here to get the rundown on TV from Peter Jennings and Wolf Blitzer?" 

**************** _Bartlet For America Headquarters_   
_Supply room_   
_10:24 p.m._

"You're not serious," Leo shook his head. 

"Leo, I could think of jokes a hell of a lot funnier than this," Josh said, waving his binder in the air. "This is what's happening. It's over. Okay?" 

"New Hampshire's gone, too?" Leo asked, knowing that might sting the President more than any other news of the night. 

"We knew that weeks ago," Josh sighed. 

"Some of the polls have even closed," Leo argued half-heartedly as he looked at his watch. "A lot of these towns don't even have electronic counting machines. They're doing it by hand. They won't have an accurate number for another..." 

"Leo." 

Leo sighed. He would be the one to tell the President. All things considered, Josh might be the appropriate person for explaining this information, but he was the wrong messenger for this candidate at this time. 

"I said to him in the car on the way over here, I said that there was still time," Leo said, though from his Deputy's face he knew there wasn't. "I don't know why I did. You're certain?" 

"So are you," Josh informed him and handed Leo his recent summary and interpretation of the electoral tables. Leo read them one more time then looked up with a stunned expression. 

"I've gotta go in there now," Leo said. "He's gonna ask me what's the score. He's gonna want to know, in a word, who's gonna win this thing. And you want me to say..." 

"No one." 

**************** _The White House_   
_Operations Bullpen_   
_Nov. 14, 7:45 p.m._

Donna made her way towards her desk as the sun started its descent in the late afternoon sky. While her watch signaled that most people in the country were making their way home, Donna was hitting the next stage of her work. She looked at the mass of folders and briefing memos that had apparently been placed on her desk by Josh while she made a brief jaunt to the Mess to grab her dinner. 

She rubbed the back of her neck and sat down. Her eyes darted back between the folders and the memos; she couldn't decide which pile to tackle first. She picked up a pink highlighter and threw it up in the air; it landed on the folders. 

_Guess that's where I'll start_, she thought. She flipped open the top folder and began scanning the contents when the phone rang. 

"Josh Lyman." 

"Funny," the caller replied. "You sound like my sister Donnatella." 

"Ralph?" Donna said, shocked to hear the sound of her brother's voice. Donna hadn't spoken with her older brother since the previous Christmas – yet another holiday that Donna missed at the Moss Family Condo. 

"That's Raphael, if you please," chuckled the male on the other end of the line. 

"Since when?" 

"Birth," her brother answered succinctly. 

"I meant since when do you…" 

"Since Liz got on a proper name kick a couple weeks ago," Ralph relented as he bemoaned yet another of his wife's quirks. "She's requesting that everyone call her Elizabeth. I called her at home last week and said 'hi, Liz;'she hung up on me." 

"You probably deserved it for something else you've said recently," Donna observed, still looking through the files before her. 

"I'd disagree, but I couldn't be convincing," he agreed with her. "So, the slave-driver still keeping you at the office?" 

"Well, you did find me here," Donna sighed. "But he's not a slave driver – he's just… busy and… demanding. We're trying to win the election." 

"Wasn't it like two weeks ago?" 

"Yes," she said. 

"So who won?" 

"Ralph." 

"Seriously, I'm asking," he said. "I voted, but I didn't pay much attention. I know it was up in the air for a while. You mean it's not settled?" 

"Not exactly," she sighed. "We won the popular vote, but not the electoral vote." 

"So the other guy won?" 

"No," Donna said. "He didn't win that either. No one got the required 270 electoral votes because a strange thing happened. Rev. Mitchell got a three electoral votes--Rhode Island--and Senator Stackhouse got Vermont's three so... Well, we're ahead in the electoral count, too, but we didn't get the amount we needed to win." 

"What happens now?" 

"They have an arm wrestling match on CNN," she deadpanned. 

"What?" 

"Well, it seems about as logical as what's going to happen," Donna replied. "They, the people of Pennsylvannia in the form of a DNC backed lawyer named Milo Reed, are seeking a court order to recount the votes." 

"Why there?" 

"Because there is evidence that massive power outtages affected the tallying of votes and the final totals didn't add up to the voter rolls," she said. "No one knows really who won in Pennsylvania. Of course, if the court says the tallies are off, then all the tallies for all the state ballot issues are off and some people contesting that--people who won close races." 

"Like your man from Florida?" 

"Him and all sorts of town and state politicians who think they won their races and maybe did or maybe didn't, but they'd just as soon not tempt fate twice," Donna sighed. 

She'd heard this discussion so often in the past week and a half that was was starting to hear it in her sleep. It was getting worse than Leo's Big Block of Cheese Day speech. 

"So what happens if they recount and Ritchie still wins in Pennsylvania?" Ralph asked. 

"That's a longer conversation than either you or I have time for," Donna replied. 

"I guess you're working a few extra hours then, huh?" 

"Me and 100 other people in the office," she said. "No one has time to go home right now. We can't all be vice presidents of our in-laws' sporting goods stores." 

"True," he conceded. "I did marry well." 

"Yeah," Donna replied. "How are Liz… I mean, Elizabeth and the kids? I sent Tad a birthday card." 

"He got it and tried to eat it," Ralph replied. His tone quickly changed. "Have you spoken with Mom recently?" 

"No," she answered. "I haven't had time. The last time I called was back when Daddy was refusing to go to the doctor." 

"I see." 

"Why?" Donna asked as she scanned a file. "What's wrong?" 

"Dad's in the hospital," he replied solemnly. 

Donna dropped her highlighter. "What? Why?" 

"He had a dizzy spell two days ago when he was having coffee with Uncle Vern," Ralph replied. "They took him to the ER, and they kept him for observation." 

"Two days ago?" Donna repeated, slightly elevating her voice. She glanced around to bullpen, seeing if anyone was looking in her direction. Finding no one, she lowered her voice. "Why am I just hearing about this now?" 

"I don't know," Ralph answered honestly. "Have you been home long enough to check you machine?" 

"Yes," she replied shortly. "And there have been no messages. Why hasn't Mom called?" 

Donna could hear Ralph sigh. 

"I can't answer that, Donna," he said. "My best guess would be that Dad didn't want any of us knowing. I only found out by accident. I happened to call home to see if he wanted that new fishing rod, and Aunt Louise was there and answered the phone. She told me. I called Frannie, and it was news to her as well. No one kept anything from you specifically." 

Donna's shoulders drooped. "Well… Oh my god. Do you know how long he's going to be in the hospital? Should I go home?" 

"Donna," Ralph began. "Aunt Louise said none of us should drop what we're doing and head home. The doc's just doing tests. She's pretty sure they'll find out he's had rabies all his life where doctors are concerned and they'll kick him out of there pronto." 

"Do you think it's serious?" 

Ralph paused then answered honestly. 

"Yes," he said. 

Donna placed her hand over her mouth to try and stop the emotions from spilling over. 

"This can't be happening," she said softly. "He was at Allison's wedding last year. And you know Mom's been on a health kick since she started volunteering at the nursing home." 

"Things just happen," Ralph explained. 

"I know." 

"I didn't call to get you upset," Ralph said. "I thought you should know, that's all. Hang in there. I doubt Mom's home right now, but if you try to call her later, you'll probably catch her." 

"I'll call the hospital and find out where Dad is," Donna replied. 

"Okay," he replied. "Frannie said you'd be the best one. Mom is more comfortable telling you things anyway. Call me if you find out anything else." 

"I will," she answered, then disconnected. 

Donna sat at her desk for several moments, staring at her hands but seeing nothing. It didn't seem real. Her father was the strongest man she ever knew. She never even recalled him having a cold. The thought of him in a hospital bed was too outlandish to believe, but the cold feeling in her stomach told her it was true. She shook her head and prepared to find the hospital's phone number when Sam breezed through the bullpen. 

"Hey Donna," Sam said. He stopped mid-stride when he saw her down-trodden expression. "Is everything all right?" 

"My… my… father," she stammered. "He's in the hospital, and we don't know why." 

Sam eyes widened. "I'm so sorry," Sam consoled her. "Is he all right? Is he sick? Was it an accident?" 

"I think it might be his heart," she replied shakily. "I don't know what I should do." 

"Do you need time off?" he asked. "Have you spoken with Josh?" 

"He's still with Leo and Bruno," Donna replied. "I really should get through these two piles here and...." 

"Donna, go home," Sam suggested. "I'll let Josh know where you went." 

"I'd rather work, Sam," Donna replied as she picked up a pencil. "Keeping busy keeps me from thinking about things that are not in my control." 

Donna turned her attention to her task. She skimmed a piece of paper and jotted down notes. She then furiously scratched through her writing and rewrote her line. Sam glanced down at the piece of paper and noted that Donna had written the same line as she had before. Sam gently took the pencil from Donna's hands and lifted her out of her seat. 

"It's okay," Sam hugged her. "Everything will be fine." 

Donna leaned into his hug. She so much wanted to believe the words he said. At that moment, Josh entered the bullpen and noted the scene in front of him. 

"What's up?" Josh asked. 

"Nothing," Donna replied as she let go of Sam. She returned to her seat and resumed her work. 

"Sam?" 

"Donna got some bad news from home," Sam said. "Her father is sick." 

"What happened?" Josh asked. 

"My father's in the hospital," Donna stated simply. "They have to do tests." 

"For what?" Josh asked. 

"I don't know," she nodded. 

"Donna," he began, taking a tentative step forward. "Is…everything all right?" 

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Ralph called to let me know; Mom doesn't want any of us up there right now; she obviously doesn't think it's serious. I'm going to call her later." 

"Do you need to go home?" 

"No," Donna answered. "I'd rather work." 

"Okay," Josh said as he turned toward his office. "I'll be in here." 

Sam watched as the two parted ways. He noted the distance between them; the lack of connectivity. He said his goodbye to Donna—offering any assistance she needed that he could give--then headed to his office. 

_ There's no spark between them anymore. There was always been a spark, even before I… Have I really driven that much of a wedge between them that they can't care about each other as friends? What have I done?_

Sam entered his office and shut the door. 

***************** 

_Office of the Deputy White House Chief of Staff_   
_Sunday, Nov. 24_   
_10:30 a.m._

The phone rang. Josh snatched the instrument out of its cradle. 

"Josh Lyman," he sighed. 

"Hey," Donna sighed. "I figured you'd be at the office." 

"Yeah," he replied. "Your flight just get in? I need you to..." 

"No," she cut him off. 

"No?" 

"My flight didn't.... I mean, I'm not in Washington," she said. 

"How long are delayed?" he asked trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he reminded himself that she could not control airtraffic. 

He had feared this would happen on Friday evening when she left. She had arranged to go home to Wisconsin that evening with plans to return Sunday morning. News from her mother had not been encouraging about her father. Artemis Moss was vowing he would not go back to the hospital even though the tests he had submitted to previous apparently showed there was reason for concern. The Moss children were descending on the family condo in Wisconsin for a mini-intervention of sorts.surmised. 

"It's not a flight delay, Josh," Donna interrupted. "I need to take a leave of absence." 

"A leave of absence?" he repeated, having to say the phrase himself to make certain that he heard her correctly. "Why? Donna, no one is even taking lunch breaks for the next few weeks until this thing is settled. You said this was only going to be a weekend thing. Why do you need more time?" 

"My father a heart attack three hours ago – just before they were going to take me to the airport," she choked out. "I'm at the hospital right now. It was serious. I need to be here, Josh." 

A knot in the pit of Josh's stomach formed as he heard the desperation in her voice. 

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," she said, taking a deep breath and resuming her composure. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you. I know that this is inconvienent, but I… I just can't leave him." 

"I understand," Josh replied automatically. "You stay with him as long as you need to. We'll manage here." 

"Thank you," Donna responded,. A little hint of disappointment crept into her mind as he was not comforting her as much as she wanted. "As soon as I know what's going on with Dad, I'll call." 

"Sure, I gotta go farm some stuff out," he said and then disconnected. 

He ran his hand over his face. Inconveinent was an understatment. This news couldn't have come at a worse time. But Josh also knew this was a serious situation; he would never deny her time with her father. He knew all too well about not spending time with family when they were sick and needed you. 

Josh rose from his chair slowly made his way down the hall towards Leo's office. 

**************** _CJ Cregg's apartment_   
_Nov. 28_   
_Thanksgiving Day, 9 p.m._

Leo McGarry waited for an answer to his summons at the door. There was a muffled ruckus coming from inside. 

"Um, who's there?" CJ called from inside. 

"The Tooth Fairy," Leo responded flatly. "CJ, you just buzzed me in a minute ago." 

"Oh, right," she said as she opened the door in mid-guffaw. "Hi, Leo." 

Leo stared at her before entering. A long, glistening noodle was draped over her shoulder and there are appeared to be a congealing substance in her hair. The sound of laughter and shuffling feet could be heard deeper in the apartment. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

"We're finishing dinner," she said with a wide grin. "The turkey sort of got burned so we're on Chinese now. Come on in. You look beat, Leo. Are you Okay?" 

From down the hall Leo listened to the so-called dinner in progress. 

"I'm going to be picking peas out of my beard for a week," Toby announced from somewhere unseen. 

"Toby!" Sam exclaimed. "I'm on your team." 

"There are no sides here," Toby replied instantly. 

"Like hell," Josh interjected. "Sam's on my team. Grab the rest of that egg roll. Toby, surrender now or…. Hey!" 

"Ooo, right in the eyes," Sam observed. "Does it sting?" 

"Where were you?" Josh asked. "Sam, you're supposed to cover me. You're on my team." 

"I was," Sam said impotently. "But I was blocked." 

"Yeah," Josh replied. "By me." 

"What's going on in there?" Leo asked CJ. "And what is that in your hair?" 

"Probably duck sauce," she giggled. "Sorry, Leo. We were just…. It got out of hand. Toby said throw me the spring rolls so Josh did—literally. He tossed one to Toby, and he missed it, sort of. It bounced out of his hands and landed in Sam's lap. Sam jumped and knocked over the wanton soup and…. Well, now this." 

"So it's true that the White House staff really is a bunch of 5th graders?" Leo observed. 

"Right now, it's a toss up," she answered. "My kitchen is a massacre, but it was fun. I don't know why. I guess a food fight is a good way to let off some steam." 

The alliances in the kitchen were apparently shifting yet again as Leo got the low down from CJ. A chair was knocked over and Sam groaned. Indications were, the other two had seen an opportunity to exploit. 

"That's how we do it in Brighton Beach," Toby crowed. "How does it feel to be taken down by the Jewish Wonder Twins?" 

"The what?" Josh asked. 

"You and me," Toby responded. "The new dynamic duo." 

"I was on Josh's team," Sam reminded them. 

"Yeah, and then you fell down," Toby pointed out. "Survival of the fittest. He saw your weakness then joined forces with…" 

"Enough," Sam groaned again. "Truce." 

"Agreed," Josh and Toby responded. 

CJ shrugged and picked the noodle off her blouse unabashedly. There was a mess to clear in the next room—one she could understand and successfully complete with the assistance of her compatriots without any fears of it impacting her job. That was no small feat considering what their lives entailed outside the apartment. 

"I think it's safe now, Leo," she said as she headed toward the kitchen. 

"Did you say Leo?" Josh called and poked his head around the corner. 

Leo shook his head as he spied rice in his Deputy's hair and spots where veggies had stuck him on his shirt. 

"Hey," Josh greeted him, the giddiness of moments earlier gone. "What's going on?" 

"Let me see your hands," Leo ordered. 

"What?" 

"Put 'em up, palms facing me," he commanded again. 

"You don't trust me," Josh smirked as he followed the direction. 

"Sure I do," Leo said as he approached the kitchen. "Just don't forget that I can fire all of you—all of you." 

"Care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner, Leo?" Sam asked, offering him a half-full carton of shrimp fried rice. 

"Eating it or wearing it?" he asked. 

"Either. Both," Toby offered. "Your choice." 

"The President suggested I stop by to check in with you all," Leo said. "I don't know what I'll tell him." 

"Tell him that things are good," Sam said, slipping into spokesman mode. "We had a light and refreshing break from the office and enjoyed a warm meal and the pleasure of each other's company." 

Leo gave Sam a dubious look as he took in the kitchen to see the table a shambles with overturned cartons and each of his senior staffers wearing more of the meal than they had probably ingested. 

"CJ started what could have been an nine alarm fire by not preparing the turkey properly so Toby ordered take out for us," Sam summarized. "And, no matter what else you hear, none of this is my fault." 

"Except that it absolutely was," Toby said leaning in to add his information. "Although, I think we could shift most of the culpability here to CJ." 

The Press Secretary slapped the Communications Director's arm, sending a noodle on his shoulder sailing forward until it landed squarely on Leo's lapel. 

"Oh my," CJ said softly. "Leo… That was an accident." 

"Yeah," Leo replied, picking the noodle off and placing it on the table. "I need him. Josh, come with me. Guys, pick up this mess." 

He pointed to Josh before turning on his heel and exiting the room. Josh exchanged looks with his colleagues before following the boss into the living room. 

"What's going on?" Josh asked when they were alone. 

"We got a call from Pennsylvania," Leo said in a low tone. "Milo Reed called me." 

Josh nodded; his mostly empty stomach cinched a notch tighter. He knew what was coming next. 

"They're meeting in a special session tomorrow," Leo continued. 

"He said they're not granting it," Josh surmised. 

"Yeah," Leo said. "No recount." 

"Damn it," Josh seethed. "We thought…. That was… Arugh!" 

"Well put," Leo nodded. "We can appeal but…" 

"It's not worth it," Josh finished. "The Circuit is no friend of ours there and… They're not big on overturning the will of the state's judges when it comes to election decisions. Damn it." 

"What does Milo say?" 

"He's coming to town," Leo stated. "He'll be here Saturday morning. We'll do a sit down, but...." 

"It won't change anything," Josh sighed. 

"No, it won't," Leo agreed. "I know you guys thought this was gonna be over and… It will be, eventually." 

"This is a whole new thing," Josh said. "We've got to start over." 

"Not exactly." 

"No, I'm recommending that we do," Josh said. "No more talk about court challenges. I think we should let it ride." 

"You're not serious," Leo questioned. 

"Not serious about what?" Toby asked, joining the conversation with Sam and CJ in tow. 

"Pennsylvania is not going to grant the recount," Josh said. 

"But we won the state," Toby said. "All exit polling showed we won. More than half of the most populated precincts said they had problems after that power outage and they believe—they came to us, we didn't go to them—that the power flux flummoxed the electronic tallying. All they need to do is run that program and…" 

"I know," Leo said. 

"It'll take less than 24 hours," Sam insisted. 

"I know," Leo agreed again. 

"Forget it," Josh said. "We lost that round. We move forward. I told Leo that I think we should let it ride." 

"What does he mean?" CJ asked Leo with a leery glance at Josh. 

"He wants the House to decide," Toby translated. 

"And that means?" CJ started. 

"Just what you think," Leo said. "Anyone else?" 

"You want the throw it to the House of Representatives to vote?" CJ inquired. "Are you crazy? Is the MSG getting to you? Josh, we don't control the House; they tried to Impeach us a year ago." 

"They conducted hearings that might have led to the Impeachment of the President," Josh corrected her. "But that never happened. And it's not about who controls the House... Not exactly." 

"Each state gets one vote," Sam added. "Each state delegate votes in a private ballot and the winner of those mini-elections get the state vote." 

"How does that help us any?" CJ asked. 

"It saves us from getting our asses kicked in the circuit courts," Sam argued. 

"A House vote is our only chance," Josh said. "We're out of viable options." 

"We're down to this being viable?" Toby shook his head. "Good thing I did eat anything today." 

"It's been done before?" CJ asked, recalling vaguely that it had. 

"1824," Toby responded. "Adams." 

"He didn't win the election," Sam pointed out. 

"Neither did we," Leo said. 

"I meant that he didn't have the popular vote," Sam explained. "We at least have that." 

"True," Leo agreed. "But in 1824, Andrew Jackson had the popular vote, and he lost the House vote. Anyone else?" 

"We're betting against history and Andrew Jackson here," CJ observed. "Sounds like bad karma to me." 

"Can we win in the House?" Sam asked. 

"It's possible," Josh said, tallies starting in his head. 

"Yeah, but is it probable?" Toby asked, similar tallies going on in his. 

Josh thought for a moment. Their eyes all fixed on him. 

"Probably." 

*****************

_TIME Magazine,_   
_Special Election Edition_   


**Editor's Note:** _At the beginning of each Presidential Election season, writers are chosen to follow each candidate and campaign with the orders to observe only. They are granted unfettered access to the campaign with the understanding they will publish nothing until the election is over. This year, freelance writer Dave McCraw was chosen to follow President Josiah Bartlet's bid to keep office. However, in light the remarkable circumstances on the last few weeks--namely the fact that the election is over but there is no clear winner--features written by these writers are being published. For an inside glimpse of the other candidates, see the other features in this edition._

_Pulitzer Prize-nominated writer Dave McCraw has been following the Bartlet campaign for the last nine months. The following is a glimpse at 24 hours behind the scenes from his perspective._

Down These Dark Halls   
By DAVE MCCRAW   
_Special to TIME_

WASHINGTON, D.C. -- It's 3 a.m. on a Tuesday in the West Wing of the White House. 

The distinctive crack of horsehide striking toughened yet distressed leather echoes in the hall outside what's known as the Communications Bullpen. Toby Zeigler, White House communication's director, casts a calculated gaze down the corridor then goes into his motion. 

It is a fluid maneuver that sends the baseball rifling down the hall at a stinging velocity. 

CRACK! 

"I don't care about the numbers," proclaims Joshua Lyman, White House deputy chief of staff, while catching the ball then hurling it back with equal force and grace. "It's got nothing to do with numbers. You either like them or hate them. There is no in-between." 

If you guessed he means Gov. Robert Ritchie, Republican challenger for the White House, you'd be wrong. Lyman and Zeigler haven't once mentioned any politician in this half-hour debate. 

Make no mistake. The President's men are locked in serious discourse. Only, it's not about the election that never ended. 

They're talking baseball. 

Specifically, they're debating the merit's of Zeigler's beloved Yankees verse's Lyman's recently-crowned World Champion Mets. 

With the mighty and weighty mantel of their future (and that of the country) resting firmly on their shoulders, the political gurus of this presidential re-election bid are playing catch, hours before dawn, in the White House--less than 40 feet from the Oval Office. 

Before cries of irresponsibility or unprofessionalism sound, take this into account: Their careers, their beliefs and their life's work are on the line (hanging by a precarious thread, some would say, after the returns three weeks ago), yet Zeigler and Lyman are calm, collected and, without question, in control. 

"Chaos is an old friend," Lyman says as the scene he is taking part in is described to him for comment. "You've got a choice. You can roll with it, dance with it, wrestle with it, woo it if you want to--just about anything. Only don't fear it. If you do, the game is over, and you lose." 

Zeigler agrees--something he claims he doesn't like to do with Lyman though it happens frequently. 

Zeigler is an intense man whose stare is legendary; as powerful as a laser, it could split concrete. 

He's also a pragmatist about their current predicament. He believes there's no mystery nor any secret solution to this pending election finale. It is, he insists, elementary. 

He believes the hard part was done more than 200 years ago when the Constitution was written. The process was put in place. Now all that needs to be done is to follow the directions. 

"Chaos is not entropy," Zeigler explains, finding a means to part ways with Lyman philosophically. "People confuse the words, or their definitions; they use them interchangeably, and that is wrong. The country is not falling apart; democracy is not falling apart and certainly our re-election bid is not falling apart. Those would be examples of entropy. What we have now is what might be chaos. That's nothing more than order with desperation being kicked up behind it--trailing it like a comet's tail." 

And so the break from the strategy sessions--as well as the day-to-day business of running the country (both men are still doing their regular jobs on top of their campaign obligations)--continues with the conversation meandering between baseball, physics, history and even architecture. 

The one subject noticeably absent is politics. 

"We know what happened, and we know what needs to be done," offers Samuel Seaborn as he wanders out of his office. "The facts don't change if you drag them out to review them or fret over them at 3 a.m." 

Seaborn, the deputy communication's director, has just awakened after a nap at his desk. He takes a seat on the floor between his two colleagues and suggests they set up a batting cage on the south lawn if the weather holds. 

They're comfortable having a feature writer around, scribbling down their words and actions. They also know others are doing the same thing with their opponents not so far away. 

The interesting fact to note here is: They don't care. 

They don't wonder what the Ritchie camp is doing, thinking or plotting. They know their chances; they believe in their campaign; and they ardently support their candidate. 

They are unafraid. 

At least of the opposition. There is one thing that will break up this game of catch. 

"Didn't I tell you to sleep?" White House Chief of Staff Leo McGarry growls as he rounds the corner. 

It's now 3:30 a.m. and McGarry is arriving to start his work day. He left early last evening--11 p.m. His parting words at that time were, in fact, directed at these men about sleep. 

"Come on," Lyman protests. "My homework's done; I ate dinner; and I even took Sam for a walk." 

"Actually, I lost a bet, and I had to go get his dinner," Seaborn offers. "I did walk, though." 

McGarry shakes his head and proclaims that he feels like a camp counselor. 

"Five more minutes," pleads his deputy. 

"No," McGarry commands. "Go home or hit a couch some place around here. Three hours at least--I mean it. And what did I say to you guys about playing ball inside?" 

Lyman flips the ball and his glove to Seaborn then walks dutifully toward the conference room in the basement--a dark, cavernous space that has become a makeshift hostel for the staff in recent weeks. Though arguably the most defiant of McGarry's employees, one can't help but notice that Lyman is also the one who listens to the man most closely. 

But that doesn't mean he's behaving entirely. 

"Hey, Leo," Lyman mentions as a parting comment. "Sam wants to ask you about setting up a batting cage on the South Lawn." 

The speechwriter gapes at his departing colleague as the Chief of Staff looses a sigh of both frustration and admiration for the both of them. 

* * * 

_Wednesday_

It's 8 p.m. in the Presidential Residence in the White House. 

"She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climbs and starless skies, all the best of of dark and light meet in aspects in her eyes." 

President Josiah Bartlet is fond of quotes--poetry is no exception. 

While the beautiful phrasing, all the more provocative when delivered in his eloquent tone, is one of tribute that is not the reason he's speaking those words tonight. 

The President is battling his Press Secretary, Claudia J. Cregg. 

It's a friendly squabble that started 20 minutes ago during dinner in the private residence. The dispute is whether the Commander-in-Chief overlooked Cregg's birthday this year for 24 hours or not. She seems pleased this might be the case, though precisely why is not clear to anyone at the table but her. 

However, the President insists she was sent her traditional bouquet from he and the First Lady. That an international dateline interfered with the precise timing of the delivery is not a fault Bartlet is willing to accept as being his. 

How or why the poetry entered the discussion is no longer clear, though neither debater seems to think the quote is irrelevant to the discussion. 

Cregg looks as tired as her compatriots--currently three flights down and 1,000 yards to the west still working on their day-job tasks. McGarry has also given Cregg orders about getting some sleeping but not until after the administration declares a full lid and puts the press corps to bed. 

That's still 3 hours away. After that, she's got to "meet with the boys" to see "what damage they've done" for her to deal with tomorrow. 

"Take it all down and put my name to it," Cregg says confidently. "They're my spin boys. They're the best. They're confident and capable and courageous, and I swear to you right now that if they ever put live turkey in my office again, I will hurt each of them." 

"CJ," the President interjects knowingly. "They didn't think year, but as I recall, when they did, you grew quite fond of your feathered friends." 

"Well, they kind of reminded me of Sam and Josh," she said. "Chopping off their heads and serving them as dinner has crossed my mind several times." 

She smiles as she says this; it's evident there is more to this story--it's apparent in her eyes--but the moment fades as an aide arrives with a message: The "boys" need her in the conference room--before her final briefing. 

* * * 

_Thursday, 1 a.m_. 

Charles Young, the President's personal aide, has just left the private residence, signaling the President's work day is over and the Commander-in-Chief's day has finally gone to bed. 

Young traverses the colonnade in quick, efficient strides, pausing briefly to glance across the sweep of shadows that cloak the White House grounds, before he reenters the building. 

"You'd think this place was asleep right now," Young says in response to being asked what he sees in his survey. "But this building is alive--it's like the stones themselves each have a pulse--every second of every day. I don't know how it's been with other staffs, but I can tell you that when you or I would succumb to exhaustion is when these people find another gear. I don't know if they'll find the right one to bring us over the finish line this time, but if I was a betting man, I know where I'd lay my money." 

Young occupies the most unique position on this staff. He is neither a senior advisor nor is he a member of the publicly-unsung yet internally-valued support staff. He spends more time at the President's side than any other person in this building--including the First Lady--but you'd never know it. 

That is to say, he'll never tell you. 

Not a thing. Not a hint. Not even a telling expression. 

An unyielding air of integrity and propriety surrounds this man-child like impenetrable armor. Its strength is rivaled only by his modesty, something that is as genuine as his dedication to his job. 

"The folks here are the most professional people I've ever known--or even heard about," Young says. "I could say I'm just an aide, but I know what I do is important. All of us serve important roles. Some might think that vital roles belong to just the senior staff, but they'll be the first to say their support staff and assistants are their most valuable asset. There's a hierarchy for sure, but we're all a team. No one gets left behind." 

To prove his point, he raises a name familiar to these dispatches since the primaries started: Donnatella Moss. 

She is the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff, and she is not here for the final battle of this campaign. She's at home in the mid-west helping to care for an ailing family member. 

And in the middle of all the political mayhem and maneuvering here in the Capital--that side of governance that gives politicians a bad name and leaves them looked upon with scorn and disdain--someone on staff always manages to check in with Moss regularly to ask how she and her family are fairing. 

"Leadership and compassion aren't contradictory," Young asserts. "It's just that people have come to expect so little of others that we tend to think of those two things as mutually exclusive. I can tell you without a doubt that they're not. Those people down in the conference room, they prove that every day." 

* * * 

If it's three a.m. again, it must be the West Wing. 

"Either put some pepper on it or go take a nap," Seaborn calls to Zeigler. 

They're the ones wearing the mitts now. 

Seaborn worked methodically from 10 p.m. until moments ago on a draft of the Inaugural Address. 

"I was a Boy Scout," Seaborn proclaims. "I'm always prepared." 

After his perusal of the sample, Zeigler declared the speech worthy of another draft. Lyman is now sitting on the floor reading it. His expression is unreadable as he flips the pages. 

One has to wonder, is it presumptuous to be finalizing the Inaugural Address with the odds so greatly stacked against the re-election bid? Should this display be taken as arrogance or a firm prognostication of victory in the near future? 

Lyman fields the question first, glancing briefly up from his reading as he does. 

"The best way to predict the future is to create it," he says simply, then starts reading again. 

And there it is, a summary of all great endeavors, stated (not crowed) matter-of-factly, in a weary yet firm voice that is tempered with pragmatism and highlighted by dreams, here long before a single ray of light will creep over the horizon into this building. 

Usually there is doubt in darkness; usually there is fear. 

But not this time; not in this place; not with these people. 

There is concern; there are questions, but there is also hope. 

Victory might not be theirs in the end, but here and now there is palpable certainty of one over-riding thing: All the answers can be found down these dark halls. 

***************** _Madison Wisconsin_   
_The Moss Home_   
_Nov. 30, 6 p.m._

Donna put down the magazine article and looked at the cover again. The four candidates splitting the biggest blocks of votes were assembled in separate shots and appeared to be looking at each other. She had seen better pictures of the President. The pictures inside the magazine were nicer. Several were courtesy of the White House photographers. The photo of the long hallway with Toby and Josh playing catch was nice. They were in stark contrast to those of the Ritchie campaign where, regardless of the alleged hour, his staff always wore ties and none of their sleeves were ever rolled up. 

"It looks posed to me," she said to Margaret on the phone. "Ritchie's people. That doesn't look real." 

"That's what I said," Leo's secretary echoed. "Toby is worried that we look like a bunch of slackers. I told him that our opponents look phony." 

"How is everything?" Donna asked. 

"Donna, I honestly don't know," Margaret said in a hushed tone. "I don't think any of them know really what to do. I mean, they understand what they need to do, but they don't seem.... inspired to do it. I think they're a little shell shocked from Election Night." 

"Leo will keep them on track," Donna replied confidently. 

"I think something's bothering him," Margaret said. "He's not himself. He's not concentrating like he normally does. And he looks tired." 

"Leo looks tired?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's not good." 

"No," Margaret agreed. "How's your dad?" 

"They're going to try to operate again," Donna informed her. "He had that fever and they wanted to hold off with the bypass until it came down. Whatever the infection was, it seems to be gone. They're supposed to try again on Wednesday. He's been home this week so I think we may need to sedate him to get him to the hospital." 

"Not a fan?" 

"That's an understatement," Donna replied. 

"Well, if you need anything, let us know," Margaret said. "We'll be here... I hope." 

***************** _The Oval Office_   
_Dec. 1, 7 a.m._

"Run that by me again," Bartlet commanded. 

His staff and the lead counsel for the Plaintiffs in Pennsylvania were gathered in the Oval Office early to conduct a new strategy session with the President. He had flown back from his brief stint in New Hampshire for the holiday with his family. His mood was as brusque and chilly as the weather outside. 

"The court is standing by its decision," Milo Reed explained. "They haven't publicly said what they're going to decide about a recount, but I can tell you with certainty that they will not grant one, Mr. President." 

Reed was a spry man of an indeterminate senior age. His hair was silver and wild and his eyes were a sharp, piercing green. He came with the highest of praise from Leo McGarry and the blessing of the chiefs at the DNC. 

"They know the tallies are flawed, but they don't feel compelled to fix the mistake?" Bartlet asked again. 

"It's not that simple, Mr. President," Josh interjected. 

"You don't say." 

"Okay," Leo broke in. "That's all we've got for now. CJ, tell the press that the President has confidence that the will of the people will prevail and the Court will do what the law clearly states it should do. That'll put a little heat back on them." 

"I'll make some notes for the radio address," Toby said. "Civic duty and whatever." 

"That's the spirit," Bartlet remarked. 

"We're done," Leo nodded as they all rose. "Josh, in my office for a minute." 

The others left the room leaving Milo with the President. 

"Should I go?" Milo remarked. "No one gave me orders." 

"Me either," Bartlet grinned wearily. "Sit. I wanted to talk with you for a moment since we've put you on the front lines in this thing in Pennsylvania." 

Milo did as commanded and sat on the couch. The President sat beside him then sipped his coffee. 

"I'd have done it anyway, Mr. President," the attorney said. "It's cheating. No matter who actually won the votes, the public has a right to know the accurate results. That is more important to me than whether the Democrats get the electoral votes." 

"I understand," Bartlet nodded. "For that, I wanted to thank you, personally. Don't get me wrong, if those votes are mine, I want them. But you're right. We owe a debt to greater truths than merely emerging as the victor." 

"I agree," Milo said. "And, if the courts do what they are leaning toward doing, we'll lose. But just so you know, I think the race was close, Mr. President. Pennsylvania was no different than the rest of the country. It was close. I know it seems little tenuous right now, but I think this is the way elections should be. It shouldn't be easy to choose a leader." 

Bartlet nodded. On some level, he agreed. On another, he knew he'd done a better job on his worst days than Ritchie could hope to do on his best. To him, naturally, the choice had been simply and clear. 

"You're from Pennsylvania?" Bartlet asked. 

"Not originally," Milo responded. "Wyoming. I went to school on the east coast and stayed." 

"So you know Leo from his days in Boston?" 

"Yes," Milo answered. "I actually met him through Noah Lyman." 

"Josh's father?" 

"Yes," Milo responded. "It was when I was assisting Noah's firm on the Bennington case. It was ... Well, the details don't matter. It was a horrible case; everything around then was horrible. At the start, there were certain nuances that Noah wanted an opinion on and he called in Leo." 

"Did you win?" 

"That case?" Milo shook his head and looked grave. "No, not initially. Things fell apart three weeks into the trial. Noah had to step down and.. Well, so long ago." 

"I see," Bartlet nodded. "So you've known Josh for some time." 

"I met him briefly when he was a child," Milo replied. "I actually got to know him when he was an adult. My oldest, Mark, and Josh met each other at college and shared a house with Chris Wick and a few others. They nearly got thrown out of Harvard because of some prank with a fish. Noah and I were not pleased with them that day, but the two of us had quite a laugh over dinner about it afterward. Oh, seems like another life time." 

"I understand he was quite a person to know," Bartlet said. 

"Noah?" Milo questioned. "He was a good man. In someways, Josh is just like him and in other ways, he is so different." 

"How so?" 

"Style and substance, I suppose," Milo mused. "The way I've seen Josh react and behave when he's supporting a cause is like watching Noah electrify a court room. The phrasing, the gestures, the expressions. It's like seeing a ghost. But Noah himself told me this, Josh is smarter than his father. Noah was wise and clever and knowledgable, but for all this talents, what made him most proud was that his son was even sharper than he was. Which isn't to say Josh doesn't have his shortcomings. For instance, I was kidding Josh in the hallway before we came in here. I asked him, why are you a lawyer? Know what he said?" 

"He wanted to be like his father?" 

"No," Milo grinned. "He said, 'because I passed the bar exam.' No creativity in that boy about some things." 

"Yeah," Bartlet said. 

The need for further conversation ended as Leo returned with Josh in his wake. They thanked Milo again and summoned Charlie to escort him to a car waiting to take him to the airport. 

From their expressions, Bartlet knew Leo and Josh's tête-à-tête was over, and they were going to have a recommendation for Bartlet. He knew what it would be; he had read the briefing memos and had long discussions with both Leo and Bruno on the topic the previous evening. It seemed a lost cause, but he was willing to go through the motions for the sake of history. Someday students would read about his failed re-election bid in their textbooks--assuming public schools survived the test of time and textbooks were not a luxury. 

"So, have you had a chance to consider our discussion?" Leo asked. 

"Yeah," Bartlet sighed. "Do it." 

"Sir, the best chance we have is..." Leo began. 

"The best chance was a month ago," Bartlet said closing the memo. "This is our only real option. It's not a good one, but it's what we have. So do it." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Thank you, Mr. President," Josh said as turned to exit. 

"Josh," Bartlet called. "Stay here." 

"Sam and I are going to meet with the leadership," Leo said, eyeing Josh carefully. 

"Send them my love," Bartlet quipped as he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. 

"Yes, sir," Leo said then departed with a dire expression. 

"Was there anything else you wanted, Mr. President,?" Josh asked. 

"Yes," the President replied as he retrieved the board and box containing the game pieces. "Sit. You're playing chess with me." 

***************** _Capitol Hill_   
_10:02 a.m._

"I think we made progress," Sam said as he and Leo exited the office. "They didn't expect that we weren't going to enter another court challenge. The pressure's on them now--sort of. I mean, the electoral college votes next week and they'll come up short with 270 for anyone so now the game starts over. I think we're starting off right. I mean, Rossiter didn't react the way I expected and that's not as promising as I hoped, but over all, this was a step forward. And some progress is better than none, right?" 

The meeting had not gone as Sam expected--particularly on his side of the table. Leo was unexpectedly quiet, almost withdrawn during the discussion. They had ended the meeting with more questions on the table than when they entered. Still, the talk had not dissolved into a shouting match or anyone predicting dire results to a House vote in two weeks, so that was a good thing in Sam's book. 

"Progress is a good thing," Leo said slowly. 

Larry, accompanying he and Sam, looked at the Chief of Staff with a questioning expression. There was something odd about the comment and about the sound of Leo's voice as he spoke. It was soft and distant as though he was half asleep and half out of breath. 

"Leo?" Larry asked, touching the man's elbow to get his attention. 

"The President said a while back, that... that," Leo paused. "What we're doing here is... Other countries can't do this; it would be chaos. What we do next sets us apart. This, what we're doing, this is what keeps us from join that league." 

"What league?" Larry asked as Leo stopped walking. "Sam, hold up. Leo?" 

"The league of ordinary nations," he said with a blank expression as his face went flush. 

Sam turned around at Larry's request. What he saw concerned him. Leo was a couple of paces behind him, loosening his tie. Sam noticed how considerably pale Leo looked; how little beads of sweat formed around his forehead. 

"Leo?" Sam asked, returning to the man's side. "You don't look good all of a sudden. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," he replied taking a deep, labored breath. "Are we done here?" 

"Yeah, we finished," Sam said, eyeing the Chief of Staff with grave concern. 

"Right," Leo nodded and rubbed a trembling hand over his brow. "That's right." 

"We should head back," Larry observed. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed and turned to speak in a hushed tone to Larry. "Get the driver to bring the car around." 

As they spoke, anxious to return to the White House to plan the next level of strategy, they failed to notice Leo grasping the wall to balance himself. 

"Do you want me to call Josh or Toby so they have a heads up?" Larry asked. "Oh my god! Sam!" 

Sam, whose back was to Leo, saw only the expression on Larry's face. It was a look of shock and possibly horror--for a moment, all Sam could think of was that night in Rosslyn. Larry pushed past Sam and reached forward. Sam whipped around to see Leo's knees buckle as the man collapsed. Sam, thurst his hand out and grabbed Leo's elbow as Larry took hold of his shoulders. 

In that instant, the door to the office of Representaive Chris Wick openned. An intern for the Wick was in the door way. 

"What's going on?" the man asked then registered the scene before him. 

Sam and Larry laced Leo's arms over their shoulders and swiftly moved him into the private confines of the office. 

"Get help," Sam ordered Larry then turned to the intern. "Help him out; do it quickly and quietly." 

***************** _Oval Office_   
_10:15 a.m._

"What are you doing?" Bartlet questioned sharply as he looked at the board. 

"That was my move," Josh shrugged. 

"That.... Why did you... That's not a.... Don't you have any strategy?" Bartlet asked. "I thought you could play." 

"I can," Josh replied. "Just not well. I know my limits." 

"Meaning?" 

"I can't beat you," Josh responded. 

"How do you know?" Bartlet growled. "You haven't even tried! Josh, every move you have made has no forethought. You're supposed to think 10 steps ahead in chess. That's how you win. You out think and therefore outmaneuver your opponent." 

"I wasn't trying to win," Josh explained. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I'm just trying not to lose," Josh replied. 

"That's what you've been doing?" Bartlet asked, startled by the admission. "Trying not to lose? You're playing me to a stalemate? That was your goal?" 

"My goal was not to lose," Josh said again. "It's not the same as winning, but when you know you can't win, it's the next best thing. It's better than losing." 

Bartlet looked up from the board to observe the man. There was no taunt in his expression. His words were matter-of-fact, like he was telling the time. Before Bartlet to comment on the strategy Josh was employing, Charlie entered with a pained and grave expression on his face as he handed the President a folded piece of white paper. 

***************** 

**Up next, Chapter 24: Rites of Succession**   



	24. Rites of Succession

**Title**:** THE QUEST, _Rites of Succession_**_ (Chapter 24)_   
**Authors**: **Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247**   
**Webpage: http:// wing_nuts.tripod.com**   
**Note**: We did it again. Changed the title on you. Couldn't be avoided. Policy shift at the last minute split the chapter in half--not unlike election results in Ellie's home district last Tuesday. "Follow the Leader" will follow shortly... very shortly. Think of it like this year's election of Bartlet. There was just too much to put into one chapter. 

***************** 

_Chief of Staff's Office_   
_Saturday morning_   
_30 minutes later_

"Margaret!" 

She hurried on wobbly knees into the Chief of Staff's office to answer the summons. She felt detached from her body and out of synch with time. It had only been 20 minutes since Sam's call sent her morning into a tailspin. There had been few details given; the staff was waiting for more information and an explanation from Sam who was still at the hospital. 

"Mar...," Josh started again as he made his way toward the door and was met by the harried staffer. "Oh, you're here. Get the whatever senior staff members are in the building here now. At the absolute least, I need Toby and CJ... and find Ed. Bruno's under a rock some place so poke him with a stick and get him here, too. I need the agenda for the day and..." 

"You mean Leo's agenda?" 

"It's mine now," Josh said turning his back and moving toward the desk. "Yeah, and you're gonna have to get the guys from legislative liaison here--quietly. I need the last briefing that I wrote about the nose count and.... Uh, Margaret, are you listening?" 

"No," she answered with a quavering voice. "I... I know that there is still work to be done, but I... It doesn't seem right. Just going about business like.... We don't even know what happened." 

"Life is like that," Josh said flatly. "I know you're..." 

"I'm not," she said unconvincingly. "I'm not scared or worried. Leo is..." 

"He's not here and he's not going to be here," Josh said, finding some middle ground with his words. "Margaret, Sam is going to call any moment with an update. I need everything else I just asked for to be done by then so I can take Sam's call and make some decisions immediately." 

"Why aren't you going to the hospital?" 

"Because my job is here," Josh said trying to sound professional rather than cold. From her expression, he had failed. "As soon as I know something, I'm meeting with the President. I need our people here so we can deal with this." 

"Okay," Margaret said with a slow nod. "Did anyone call Mallory?" 

"I suppose Sam did," Josh said, searching for a folder on Leo's desk. "He's the kind who would think of stuff like that." 

"If he hasn't?" 

"Then you should, but only after you get me the..." 

I just...," Margaret interrupted. "For a while now, more than a week at least, I thought something was wrong. I mean, I sensed it, but I thought maybe I was just being me. He hates it when people pry and I remember when he... I just didn't know that he... Do you think that the President is going to..." 

"You didn't do anything wrong," Josh said solemnly. "If there were signs of what was going on, we all missed them because he probably hid them. We don't have the time to do post game on this right now. I need you to just do your job." 

"What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"What I always do," Josh sighed. "Worry about the President and figure out what's going to happen in the next room." 

"What about Leo?" 

"That's out of my hands," he said firmly. 

She nodded again and started to walk to her desk then suddenly turned. 

"I know my job, but it's hard not to think the worst is all I'm saying," Margaret said passionately with a misty glaze on her eyes. "He's not as strong as he makes people believe." 

"None of us are," Josh replied and lifted the phone to call Sam. 

***************** _Deputy Chief of Staff's Office_   
_9 p.m. that evening_

Amy Gardner wandered into the office from the oddly quiet corridor. She had entered the building with Toby, having spent the afternoon assisting him with discussions among the Illinois and Washington delegations. He had filled her in on the morning''s events. She asked to go back to the White House with him. 

"Do you grow mushrooms in here?" she asked as she stood in the doorway and peered at Josh who was sitting in near darkness as he stared at a blank computer screen. 

"I'm sorry?" he said, breaking from his trance to see her. 

"Your mother says you're more at home in the dark than in the light," Amy said entering his layer. "She calls you her little mushroom boy." 

"She does not," he defended in an exhausted voice. 

"Not to your face," Amy agreed. "You didn't eat yet, did you?" 

Josh shook his head and looked at his watch for the first time in hours. The day had flown by. His meeting with the President had realigned the structure of the office, spreading the burden of the Chief of Staff's tasks among the rest of the staff. The majority of them had fallen to Josh. He would be spared any high level national security matters but little else. 

"Yeah, I think you need to take me to dinner," Amy said, grabbing his coat from the coat rack in the corner. 

"I need to take you?" he shook his head. "Even if it that was true, I can't." 

"Yeah, but you're going to anyway," she replied, tossing the overcoat to him. "I could have the First Lady order you in person or you can just take my word that she told me to do this. You've gotta get out of this building, Josh. Nothing more for you to do now." 

"Yeah," he nodded and sighed. 

Reluctantly, he stood and put on his coat. He turned off his computer and walked on stiffened legs to join her. They walked down the hall toward the lobby in virtual silence. She looped her arm through his and shook her head. 

"You're too tired to fight it," she said. "So just talk to me and tell me what's going on. If you say you're fine, I swear to god I'll break your jaw. So talk." 

***************** 

_George Washington University Hospital_   
_9:30 p.m._

The agents walked, nearly shoulder to shoulder, enshrouding the President. There was no sound as he took the long walk down this corridor. The area had been swept and secured. There was no sign of life outside of his protection detail. Bartlet walked with quick steps, his hands dug deep into his pockets; his head was bowed slightly as heavy thoughts filled his brain. 

He paused at the door and hesitated before entering. This was going to be the perfect ending to a tumultuous day. He placed his hand on the door handle and started to enter. 

"Mallory, it's my phone so just give it to me," Leo argued as the President entered the room. "Ah, there. Mr. President." 

"Don't get up," Bartlet waved him off as he watched his friend struggle in the hospital bed. 

"I will get up," Leo announced as he struggled with the bed sheets. "I'm leaving, too. There's nothing in these IVs but water." 

"That's because you're dehydrated, Daddy," Mallory said placing a warning hand on his shoulder. "You have a 101 degree fever..." 

"Doesn't mean anything," Leo said, ceasing his escape attempt. 

"You collapsed," she continued. 

"I merely stumbled a little, and those floor were wet," Leo argued. 

"And the x-rays they did show you have pneumonia," she finished planting her hands firmly on her hips. "You're staying here if I have to handcuff you to the bed. Mr. President, order him to stay here." 

"You can't give the President an order, Mallory," Leo scolded her. "He doesn't work for you." 

"Technically, I do," Bartlet grinned. "So, I'll do as she said, and so should you. You're staying here, Leo. That's an order. If you won't take one from me, and I know you will, but if you won't, my wife will be by to see you. These doctor's hang together. They're like a gang so I'd just do what they say for a while. Mallory, how are you?" 

"When Sam first called, I was a wreck," she said. "Now that's Daddy's giving people orders and lost all his manners, I feel much better." 

"She won't give me a phone," Leo said. "Tell her I at least need my phone. She had them remove the one here in the room and now she's taken my cellphone hostage." 

"I don't know that you can take an inanimate object hostage," Bartlet pondered. 

"Mr. President, I'll leave you to deal with him," Mallory said with a relieved sigh. "I'm going to the cafeteria for some coffee. Daddy, behave or I'll see that you only get lime Jell-O for dessert." 

The Chief of Staff's daughter grinned and offered a cheery wave to the President upon departing, showing her father that she had taken possession of the battery of his cellphone. Leo grimaced at her then shook his head. He vowed he'd find either a way out or a way to get his communication network back shortly. 

"Pneumonia?" Bartlet remarked. "That's an old man's disease." 

"I'm an old man," Leo said. 

"Yeah, but not that old," Bartlet said, sitting in the chair beside the bed. "Remember, we're almost the same age." 

"I'd ask you to switch places, but all things considered...." 

"Yeah, we cover up my health crisises much better than yours," Bartlet grinned. "Why didn't you say something? If you weren't feeling well, you should have take some time off to take care of yourself." 

"Wasn't time," Leo said. "Besides, you know these doctors. They make a little thing like pneumonia sound serious, and it's not real pneumonia, by the way. It's walking pneumonia." 

"Yeah, the mobile kind is the cool kind," Bartlet nodded. 

Leo nodded then sighed. The next part of the discussion was the part that he had been working on since the moment Sam left him in the doctor's care. Their nearly impossible mission had possibly just gotten harder and it was Leo's fault. 

***************** _Amy Gardner's Apartment_   
_9:40 p.m._

Josh pushed the noodles around in his plate. He didn't want to eat. He didn't want to talk, either, but Amy had a way that made not talking more difficult than saying what he didn't want to say. 

"It's understandable that it scared you," she sympathized from across the table. 

"I wasn't scared," he said. "Angry, maybe." 

"You weren't scared?" Amy scoffed. "Josh, you got word that your mentor and one of the men you revere collapsed and... How did that not scare you? Toby said for a little while, before anyone had information, people thought Leo had had a stroke or might die. That didn't scare you?" 

Josh shook his head. He had harbored a secret belief that Leo would never die. 

"Well, look at everything that's just fallen on your shoulders," she continued. "That doesn't scare you? You went from Leo's deputy to the guy in charge. That's a hell of a promotion at a time like this. That has to be daunting. Even I'd be a little trepidatious." 

"You're not me," he said, pushing his plate away. 

"Okay, your macho thing doesn't really work on anyone, Josh," Amy informed him. 

"I wasn't doing a thing," he said honestly. "I've been here before. I don't like it, but it's not unfamiliar territory." 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Leo's never been sick enough or crazy enough to leave you in charge for kicks." 

"I didn't mean Leo," Josh said as he stood and prepared to leave. "Thanks for dinner. It looked edible." 

"Josh?" Amy halted him. "What did you mean?" 

"A long, long time ago," he said as he pulled on his coat. "I didn't like it, but I didn't have a choice. Life throws a pretty nasty curve ball from time to time." 

Amy looked at him compassionately and knew he wasn't referring to politics. She knew some parts of him were so frail they were on the verge of breaking at anytime and other parts of him so strong there was no force in the universe that could make them crack. She knew why he was that way. It pained her as much as it intrigued her. And it was those very traits she found the most irresistible in him. 

"Leo's gonna be okay, Honey," she promised him. 

"I know," Josh nodded. 

"If you need anything," she offered. 

Josh looked at her through a mix of emotions: fear, exhaustion, curiosity. He nodded again wondering if she was another of those pitches he was facing. There was only one way to find out, he decided. 

"I'll call you later," he said as he opened the door. "It'll be pretty late." 

"I'll be here," she nodded. 

***************** _George Washington University Hospital_   
_Leo McGarry's Room_

"Sir, you know how I love these little inconsequential chats and all, but could we finally talk some business, please," Leo wearily pleaded with the President. "CJ's gotta comment on this thing with me and show that it was nothing. 'Cause if she doesn't...." 

"You need a nap," Bartlet smirked. "We're way ahead of you so take five, compadre. She dealt with it hours ago." 

"How?" Leo asked with a furrowed brow as he pointed to the TV across the room. "This thing doesn't work." 

"Our health care system is abominable," Bartlet shook his head. 

"Sir, now is not the time to...." 

"I think it's a great time to do exactly this," Bartlet continued with delight. "You're trapped. We're on the fifth floor so the window isn't an option and, even if I didn't half have the Secret Service out in the hall, you're not dressed to make a strategic retreat." 

"Mr. President, please," Leo sighed, attempting to return the discussion to something productive. "I mean it. This could make or break the vote in two weeks and..." 

"Leo, relax," the President said. "CJ popped into the briefing room with something about the Housing Secretary and a Chicago thing then she passed this off as nothing. She broke the story; we controlled it. It died more easily than you ever will." 

"How?" 

"She walked in," Bartlet said airily. "We have a light briefing for you today. Topping the news is Leo McGarry's fainting spell in the Capitol a little while ago. Judges say it lacked said artistry but it was loaded with technical merit." 

"Sir." 

"She gave them the bare and boring details that you got yourself sick like the rest of the town and didn't have the good sense to take a day off," Bartlet informed him. "There were a few questions. She summed up by saying you were going to live. There was a collective groan and then they were more interested in what the Fed. Chairman might do on Wednesday." 

"What would that be?" 

"I don't know," Bartlet scowled. "I know what he should do, but he and I don't often agree. Josh assures me it will be a fascinating morning." 

"Josh," Leo nodded. "You said you have things squared away with farming stuff out. He's stepped up?" 

"It's his job, isn't it?" Bartlet asked. "If it's not, he's doing a good impersonation of it." 

"I'll be back tomorrow," Leo promised. 

"No, you won't," Bartlet commanded. "The doctor said bed rest, and the only person on staff who has a bed at the office is me. And though I like you, I don't like you that much so you are staying at your home." 

"Mallory's home," Leo growled. "She's going to take me hostage." 

"Well, she's got your phone so you'll have company," Bartlet quipped. 

"Mr. President..." 

"Leo, the staff will handle things," Bartlet replied. "When we need you, have no fear, your phone will ring. Well, that is if you ever get a phone again. Maybe we'll try smoke signals. Do you have a clear view of the air space over the White House from here?" 

"Sir..." 

"Until then," Bartlet cut him off, "you will rest, get well and come to grips with the idea that you are never going to live this down. At least, not with me." 

"Josh is running the show?" 

"Part of it," the President said. "We still have cabinet secretaries and military advisors. I thought of turning the whole thing over to him--just to see what would happen--but the Attorney General advised against it." 

"He's driving you nuts," Leo surmised with a heavy and worried sigh. "Mr. President, I know everyone is under a lot of strain and the next two weeks aren't going to do anything to improve that. I would hope that, whatever other things people are feeling about each other, that we can all make it through this and work together so that..." 

"Leo, I know this will sound unbelievable, but I'm a mature adult," Bartlet said. "The entire staff is or fakes it well enough most days that only their mothers know the truth. I can work with Josh as I have for years. From what I've seen, it's almost like Josh has done work in politics before. I swear to you, he's doing a wonderful imitation of a Senior Staffer. It's as though you trained him to be your deputy." 

"Yeah, well, he shouts," Leo said. 

"You don't say," Bartlet deadpanned. "What I want to know is how he learned to do all those things that he does that we're not supposed to talk about." 

"I can't sit this out and you know it," Leo informed the President. 

"You have to," Bartlet told him. "For now. At least take a few days to rest. You'll be fully apprised of what's going on. But you need to take care of yourself because if you die on me, I'll never forgive you." 

"Sir..." 

"I mean it, Leo," Bartlet stood and prepared to leave. "You do and we're finished. You have a lot of people who are as concerned for you as they are for this election and some even more so. You had us worried--and not just about our jobs. Things like this remind us that... Well, that even on bad days, we do like each other, if only a little." 

"There's no need to worry about me," Leo assured him. 

"I know that," Bartlet said. "It was amazing thing to see, Leo. All of them working in that quasi-crisis mode with no disagreement. They worried about you, Leo. You mean much more to them than you know. You inspire them, and don't worry about me and Josh. Right now he's is staying so focused that nothing is going to sidetrack him for even a moment. He's got that look in his eyes. It's his game face and it's not going away." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Bartlet said. "Since Sam first called in today, Josh has been so busy that he hasn't had the time to think about that moment he confronted the possibility that you might not be there tomorrow." 

"He doesn't exactly need me to hold his hand," Leo said. 

"I don't mean for work," Bartlet said solemnly. "Leo, you're more than just his boss. He would step in front of a train for you, and you scared the hell out of him today. I've found that it takes a lot to honestly scare Josh Lyman, and you did it." 

"Is he all right with all of this?" Leo said, looking at the spot where the phone used to be by his bed. "I mean the workload. He hasn't called. At least, I don't think he has." 

"He hasn't had time," Bartlet said. "Margaret deserves flowers already." 

"He appropriated her?" 

"She'll need a vacation after this," Bartlet said. "She's probably the only one on the assistant level who can handle working with him right now. In other circumstances, it would be comical. He keeps calling her the wrong name, and she keeps correcting him." 

"I'll be back as soon as the warden lets me," Leo vowed. 

"Then you'd better be on your best behavior," Bartlet said. 

***************** _Office of the Chief of Staff_   
_Dec. 4, 11:45 AM_

A steady December rain was falling outside the White House. Josh sat behind Leo's desk, looking over the latest numbers. The days were split between being Acting Chief of Staff and his normal duties. As Josh flipped through the pages, he became increasingly unhappy. The report showed that the still undecided race for the presidency was still undecided. President Bartlet and his Republican counterpart were still as close in percentage points as they were on election night. 

"Donna!" he yelled, not moving. 

No response. 

"Donna!" he tried again. 

Again, no response. 

Margaret appeared in the doorway. "Did you need something?" 

"I called for you," he said. 

"No, you called for Donna," Margaret said calmly. "Again." 

"What?" Josh looked up from his reading. "Oh, I…" 

"Did it again, yes," Margaret nodded. "Would it be helpful if I wore a big name tag or maybe put a large sign of some sort on the desk?" 

"Margaret." 

She noted the less than amused tone in his voice. It was very Leo'ish in her estimation and let her know that it was going to be yet another arduous afternoon. 

"What do you need?" she asked. 

"My assistant," Josh sighed. 

"That would be me," she responded. 

"You're Leo's," observed. "I have explicit instructions in that area." 

"You also have purged most of the secretarial pool as possible temps…." 

"They call them temps for a reason," Josh noted. 

"And practically none of the senior assistants will even step into the hall when you're out of this office," Margaret finished. "I would say you shouldn't take it personally, except that from what I've heard it is." 

"It's personal?" 

"You scare people," Margaret said confidently. "Not me personally, though you are a bit loud. I mean, Leo isn't quite a lamb or anything, but he doesn't normally shout. It's not that your intimidating….." 

"I can be intimidating," Josh protested. 

"Right," Margaret breezed through the topic shift. After more than a week of dealing with the Deputy Chief on an hourly basis she was adapting to his seemingly pointless sidebars and learning to avoid them for the sake of expediency. "Is there anything intimidating that you needed done or that you want me to attempt? I've just finished the memo Leo requested and was going to bring it to him over lunch." 

"Who's left?" 

"In the temp pool?" Margaret asked and received a curt nod in response. "I believe we're down to the recycled ones; the first up is the last one you sent back, Debra." 

"I thought it was Tammy." 

"No, Tammy was the one who cried," Margaret said. 

"That was Karen," Josh corrected her. 

"Actually, it was both of them, but at least Tammy lasted the whole day," Margaret said. "The current generation of substitute help is Debra. That's fifth generation, if you were counting—which the personnel office is; they're not giving you anyone more." 

"They work for me," Josh said. "I oversee…" 

"Yes, we know," Margaret replied promptly in an understanding tone to cut off the justification that she did not care to hear. "You've run out of people who are brave enough to come work for you right now. They don't dislike you, well not most of them anyway; they just think there is too much stress involved in the position what with you doing your job, some of Leo's, the congressional vote and the thing with the President." 

Josh looked at her in mild shock. The thing with the President was not a thing; Sam and Toby had said so to him. He had convinced himself they were correct. If strangers in the personnel office were picking up on the atmosphere…. 

"It's bad mojo," Margaret continued. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"There's a vibe," she said. "Between you and the President. Like before a bad storm. By the pricking of my thumbs…" 

"You're quoting Shakespeare?" Josh remarked. "It's that bad?" 

"Worse," Margaret confided to him softly. 

Josh nodded and fell silent for a moment. There was more going on than he knew about—hardly a new event in his career—but for the first time in a long time, he didn't like the chaos. 

"I'm a likable guy," he protested. 

"You're also very high maintenance," Margaret informed him. 

Josh stared at her. "I called you Donna?" 

"Three times today so far," she said. "Which is down from the five times yesterday by this time." 

"I'd call that progress," Josh offered. 

"Sure," Margaret nodded. "So, I'll ask again, would it help you if I wore a big name tag?" 

"You've talked to Donna?" 

"Got email this morning," Margaret reported. "No change. She put a ding in her mother's rear fender in the hospital parking lot, but it wasn't her fault. You see, medical reports now believe that excessive amounts of vitamin C...." 

"I stopped caring right after you said nothing's changed," Josh cut in as he cast a brief glance at the laptop computer on the desk. 

He had not received any email from her in recent days. Not that he had had time for such things. The days were stretching to 20 hours as he tried to hold down the fort at the office and keep the election momentum going. 

"Find me the transcripts from the Ritchie's last television interview," he ordered. "I mean, the one with Lou Dobbs." 

Margaret left her post to find the documents, while Josh engrossed himself in the polling numbers. A knock came at the door, snapping Josh back into reality. 

"That was quick," he observed. 

"I'm all about the fast lane, mi amore," CJ said as she entered. 

"What do you want?" Josh asked bluntly. 

"To know why anyone finds you charming would be nice," she said. "Steve Thornton, Detroit News, asked if you were losing your grip. Hallucinating or something. You're seeing Donna around all the corners. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was love." 

Josh looked back at her blankly. 

"You're like Pavlov's dog," CJ chuckled. "You've been trained so well that you can't change your behavior. You're calling Margaret by the wrong name still?" 

"I was distracted." 

"Demented," CJ nodded. "You need sleep, and you're suffering from Donna-Withdrawal." 

"What did you want?" he asked again. 

"We had a meeting," she noted. 

"Damn!" Josh seethed and pounded his hand on the desk. "Why didn't anyone come get me?" 

"Turned out we didn't need you," CJ said. "We had Leo on the phone, and you're really no substitute for him." 

"Tell me about it," Josh sighed and slumped in the chair. 

***************** _Chief of Staff's Office_   
_December 5_   
_7:23 a.m._

Josh rounded the corner and headed toward Leo's office still shaking his head and scolding himself internally. He had been in a meeting with Toby since six a.m. After the meeting, he went back to his office. He was still not used to the idea that his office was currently not where he worked. 

"Josh, is there something going on with the Department of State?" Margaret asked as he neared her desk. 

"I would hope there is a lot going on," Josh said. "We're paying them for something." 

"But nothing in particular," she continued. "I read the papers and caught Headline News this morning and nothing really jumped out at me. 

"So apparently they're doing something right," Josh shrugged. "Why? What did you hear?" 

"Nothing," Margaret continued. "You have a phone call from Ambassador Brennan and I was wondering if maybe..." 

"He's on hold?" Josh asked sternly. 

Margaret looked at the flashing button on her phone then nodded. 

"Yes," she said then looked at his face. "You probably want to take the call now?" 

"Yes," Josh hissed then entered Leo's office and slammed the door. 

He winced as the clatter rattled the walls. He wasn't supposed to do that, he knew. Not this close to the Oval Office. At least the President was in the Situation Room getting a morning briefing. Josh was normally able to control these impulses, but as the days continued to bleed into each other and the polls continued to reflect the vote in the house wasn't going to be any further apart than the general election, Josh's nerves were more frayed than he considered comfortable. 

"Ambassador?" Josh asked as he took the phone. "What can I do for you?" 

"Tell me how you got Vince Myrtle to drop out of the campaign the last year you worked for me," Brennan said heartily. 

"So this call is just to annoy and harass me," Josh surmised, breathing easier that there wasn't an international crisis brewing in Ireland. He had been the strongest voice advising the President to appoint Brennan. Considering how his record was lately, another screw up could be disastrous. 

"I was calling to check in on one of my boys," Brennan relented. "I've been following the election aftermath closely. Saw you on Crossfire this morning," Brennan said. 

"This morning?" 

"Satellite at the Embassy," Brennan explained. "I watched the show around one this morning my time--seven o'clock your time yesterday evening. Joshua, I don't like what I heard. Don't be so hard on yourself, kid," Brennan said. "This election was an ideological cluster fuck from the start." 

"Please tell me you are on a secure line right now, Mr. Ambassador," Josh moaned as he slumped in his seat. 

"Joshua, you know what I mean," Brennan growled. "One guy was an idiot; the other gets tripped by his IQ when the wind blows stiffly enough. I'm not the most liberal member of the Party..." 

"Hardly a news flash," Josh said, recalling why he had left Brennan's camp. 

It was the ideological shift as well as the chance for advancement that prompted him to switch to a post in the Senate years earlier. Brennan had been a moderate to liberal congressman, but after his third divorce, attitudes in his home district wore him down and pushed him further to the right than was Josh's liking. 

"I'm hearing a lot of rumbling," Brennan continued. "Word is McGarry's boy is on his way out after this vote--even if you folks win. Now, that being said..." 

"Who said it?" Josh asked. 

"Does it matter?" Earl remarked. "Would I repeat it if it wasn't something with any credibility?" 

"Probably not," Josh sighed. He hadn't officially heard such rumors, but they didn't surprise him either. That they were floating around in the US Embassy in Ireland only further emphasized how out of the loop Josh was on his own stability within the administration. 

"I've talked to John Chase and Albie Duncan," Brennan said. "There's a place for you at State, you know." 

"I don't do foreign affairs," Josh said. 

"Like hell you don't," Brennan snapped. "You're a Fulbright Scholar, you know heads of state and you're fairly sharp when you put your tongue away." 

"Just what time of day do you begin drinking, Mr. Ambassador?" Josh asked as he looked at his watch. 

"I'm not talking about you being an Ambassador," Brennan continued. "You've no skill for that, but you know how to work back rooms and that is more than half the game. You wouldn't even need to leave Washington. Albie says he has just the place for you." 

"No doubt," Josh said, recalling the Assistant Secretary's lack of enthusiasm for most anything Josh did for the administration. About the only thing Duncan liked about him was his first name, Joshua, and that only because it was the same as Duncan's own grandfather. "Look, Mr. Ambassador..." 

"It's Earl, Josh," Brennan said. "We go too far back to stand on pretense or titles." 

"Right," Josh continued. "I would appreciate it if you didn't make phonecalls on my behalf regarding career opportunities at this point." 

"See," Brennan chuckled. "Right there! That's a diplomacy answer. You just told me to mind my own damn business without so much as insulting me. This is where you belong. You've worked the Legislative Branch and Executive Branch. Now it's time to step into the last unconquered territory." 

"Judicial is the third branch of government," Josh sighed and shook his head. "The State Department is not it's own branch--despite what some people..." 

"You mean Albie..." 

"Some people," Josh said with emphasis, "believe." 

"All right then," Brennan laughed again. "I just wanted to mention it. I was actually calling to see how much fight you had left in you. This is a drawn out contest you are locked in and I was... well, I was worried you'd be worse for it. It can't have been easy. I know there is trouble in the house." 

From his tone, Josh knew what he meant by house and it wasn't Congress. Josh remained silent. Brennan's call was not just to check in, he knew. His offers of a job and career shift were two-fold. He was letting Josh know about options--it was the back-slapping Irish politician in him; and he was making Josh know that the rumors were likely true. For as gruff and clumsy as Earl Brennan could be at times politically, he was a sharp and sly man who could convey many bits of information without ever needing to say anything directly. 

Josh thanked him and disconnected. 

_McGarry's boy is on his way out after this vote._

It was roughly the same information Danny Kincannon questioned CJ about in the hallway two days earlier. It was all the confirmation Josh needed. 

***************** 

_Alexandria, Va._   
_Mallory O'Brien's home_   
_Dec. 5, 6:30 p.m._

"MALLORY!" Leo bellowed from the confines of her living room. He had been released from the hospital into her custody late the previous afternoon and had been looking for an escape route ever since. All attempts had failed. 

"I'm right here," Malloary said cheerfully breezing into the room. "The bellowing is not necessary. I have two well-functioning ears and I'm not Margaret." 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "Where the hell is the remote? They're showing parts of Bruno's interview on MSNBC at seven." 

"How do you know that?" 

"Because I have this note here from Margaret that says," Leo stated as he put on his glasses and read from the email on his laptop computer, "they're showing parts of Bruno's interview on MSNBC this evening at seven." 

Mallory offered him a scornful and shaming look. He returned it with equal fervor. 

"Daddy, you're going get all worked up and start yelling the TV and then you're going to demand a phone and.... Well, let's not even go there. Okay? You just got home from the hospital. You need your rest." 

"When did I suddenly become an invalid?" Leo asked. "Mallory Elizabeth, I am capable of taking care of myself." 

"Yes, you've proven that with great prowess by collapsing with a 102 degree fever and needing to be hospitalized for a three days," she reminded him. 

"I told them I was fine," Leo said gruffly. 

"Yes, in your delirium, you also told them you could have them all fired," Mallory remarked. 

"I could," he replied belligerently. "I know a lot of people." 

"I know," she said in the tone she normally reserved for belligerent students. "And that makes you an important man." 

"I need that remote," he said flatly. 

"You need to rest." 

"I need to work, Mallory." 

"You need to work on taking better care of yourself, but since you're incapable of doing that, they put me in charge now," the Chief of Staff's feisty daughter said firmly--her tone reminding her father that her red hair was not a bluff. "Funny, MSNBC isn't in your treatment for this evening." 

"You're treating me like I'm in a Home," Leo snarled. "What's next? Tapioca pudding for dinner?" 

"It's more of a lunch food; and you are in a home. This," she answered with a sweeping gesture to the room, "is part of my home, temporarily your home. You should really take a look at and get used to it. It's a nice place and you're going to be here for a while, Daddy." 

"I've got to do this thing on the Hill next week, Mallory," Leo said emphatically. "You'll need a court order to keep me out of it." 

"I know lawyers," she replied. 

"And they all work for me," Leo argued. "Sam wouldn't dare. As for Toby and Josh...." 

"They support me 100 percent," Mallory cut in. "They do, Daddy. They want you to get well. I've spoken with them, and they agreed with me that you need to take it easy for a little while." 

"Oh, great," Leo moaned. "You're taking advice from Tom and Jerry. You know, there's a reason they're never left in charge." 

"You leave them in charge all the time when you travel with the President without them," she reminded him. "And, I must add, you hired them." 

"Which means I can fire them, too," Leo grumbled. 

"Yes, you do that," she nodded sweetly and picked up the tea cup on the table beside him. 

"I can find my clothes," he informed her. "The second I do, I'm calling a cab and I'll..." 

"That'll be entertaining considering I have them locked in the trunk of my car," she said as she breezed into the kitchen. "Think of the headlines then. Leo McGarry seen skulking around Alexandria in his pajamas and slippers. That would look nice right next to the security camera pictures of you fainting in the Capitol." 

"Mallory..." 

"Dad, you need to take it easy for a few days," she said returning from the kitchen with a stern look. "A few days, that's all. But if you don't, you're going to end up in the hospital again." 

"I thought you were getting me my dinner," Leo said tersely knowing he'd lost yet another round with her. His plan was to make himself such a nuisance that she threw him out. So far, she was displaying the patience of her mother. 

"Your soup will be finished in 20 minutes," she said. 

"Soup?" he asked. "I'm half-dead on the floor of Congress a few days ago and all you're giving me is soup?" 

"It's homemade soup," she smirked, anticipating his tactics and steeling herself against locking him in a closet or abandoning him in the street. "You like homemade soup." 

"No, not so much," Leo shook his head. "Call Givonnchi at _Maison Blanche_ and get their tomato soup." 

"No." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I listen to your doctors, do you?" Mallory scolded him. "You have walking pneumonia--that's your immediate ailment--but   
your cholesterol is up. That tomato soup is made without about two gallons of heavy cream. A cup of it could give a 10-year-old a heart attack--and no smart remarks about being able to take on a 10-year-old. You are getting homemade vegetable soup, and you will like it." 

"When did you learn to cook?" Leo asked mildly. 

"Where every girl learns," Mallory answered quickly. "In college from boys." 

"I wanted you to go to an all girls school," Leo said then spied the look on her face. "I mean, a women's college." 

"I learned a lot at my college," Mallory responded. 

"That's my point," Leo grumbled. 

"You make very interesting points, Daddy," Mallory replied as she kissed him on the cheek then turned to head back to the kitchen. "I'm going to go finish your soup. Do you need anything? And if you mention your cellphone or the remote, I will spoon feed you the soup." 

"My shoes, my suit and the keys to the car," he said despite the warning. 

"I'm not even giving you the TV remote," she said. "What makes you think I'll even let you see your car?" 

"What if I promise to take a cab?" Leo negotiated. "Where's the phone?" 

"It's with your car and keys and clothes and remote," she answered. 

"Mallory," he pleaded again as he rose from the chair and walked to the kitchen. "See, I stand, I walk and if I had a fever still I'd dance a gig. But I don't have one so I'm really fine. I'll stay here one night more to make you happy, but you've got to let me do my work. This is important. Young lady, I know you can hear me. I'm still your father." 

"Yes, you are," she said with a patronizing nod. "Now, be a good little Daddy and go back to your chair. You don't need to call the office. They are handling things." 

"Yeah," Leo questioned. "How do you know?" 

"I listened to NPR in my car," she grinned. "They said Josh gave Puerto Rico to Cuba. Was that a bad thing?" 

"Mallory," Leo sighed. 

"Daddy, is your staff intelligent?" 

"Depends on who you ask," he said truthfully. 

"Do they understand politics?" 

"Again, I gotta go with depends upon who you ask," he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the thick robe Mallory had bought him--he thought of it as his prison garb. 

"They know how you do things? They're aware this vote in the House is important?" 

"If they don't then we all belong in the hospital," Leo said. "Them for being clueless and me for hiring them." 

"Well, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say they might have things under control at the office," Mallory argued as she walked her father back to the living room. "They might have had the meetings you were going to have, talked to the people you were going to talk to--or the people you would have asked them to speak with--had the discussions with the staff you were going to have. I'll bet they've got a plan and ways to implement it that has the support of the President. Know how I know this? No one has called to tell you the staff has run amok. They are giving you what you need: time to rest." 

Leo reached the recliner Mallory had assigned to him. He slowly sat in it, digesting her words. He wanted them to be true on one hand; on the other hand, he craved returning to his post and doing his duty. The more they needed him at the office, the more quickly that could happen. 

"Now, if you sit there quietly like a good little patient, I might even give you some crackers for your soup," Mallory said, tucking a blanket over his legs. 

"Oh, boy, really?" he said sarcastically. 

Mallory returned to the kitchen and turned down the stove. She prepared a tray for her father and conceded to give him the newspaper--but only after shredding the section containing information about the upcoming vote and its effect on the markets. The sports section and homes and fashion sections would do him just fine, she decided. 

She placed the tray in front of him and received a grumbling thanks. She resisted the urge to pat him on the head as she returned to do the dishes and leave him to his meal in silence. She had just filled the sink when there was an unexpected knock on the side door. She opened the door to find Sam standing there holding a brown bag. 

"Hi, Sam," she said stepping aside so he could enter. 

"How are you?" 

"He's still alive," she nodded. "I'm putting myself up for a commendation." 

"Driving you nuts?" Sam ventured. 

Mallory's stiff grin answered for her. 

"Demanding little patient is he? Bet you thought your students were bad." 

"I've had worse," she said diplomatically. "He's just sat down to dinner." 

"So you're not spoon feeding him?" Sam joked. 

Leo overheard the conversation and suddenly appeared in the doorway. 

"No," he said sternly. "The _demanding little patient_ has mastered the spoon." 

"Daddy, you're not supposed to be in here," Mallory promptly replied. "Now, what are we supposed to be doing? Sitting and eating peacefully." 

"I don't recall agreeing to that," Leo argued. "I recall something about crackers and you not giving me my car or clothes. Sounds like abuse to me. Sam, what do you think?" 

Sam looked from the father to the daughter then back again. This was a no win situation. 

"Well, you see," he started. "I think, whoever I agree with, the opposing party will... Well, it just wouldn't be good for me." 

"Sam can drive me to the office," Leo said instantly. 

"Sam will be doing no such thing," Mallory said, offering Sam a glare for an offer he had in fact not made. 

"I'd love to kidnap you, Leo," Sam said. "Well, what I mean is.... Never mind. I'm just here to bring you some good news. The last nose count was wrong." 

Mallory glared at Sam further. He was breaking the rules. There was to be no discussion of the vote in her house. Sam saw Leo's dire expression and decided breaking the rules was more important that his safety. 

"We still have a chance at Ohio's vote," he said quickly. "Not a great chance, but it's better than it was before. Toby's working on it." 

"SAM!" Mallory sneered. 

"I really just wanted to stop by and say things were looking up," Sam retreated. "That's good, right? I mean, we've got things under control so you can relax, Leo. I was heading home actually. I'm just leaving the office. We had an all-nighter. That's why I stopped at _La Colline's." _He held up his paper bag. _ "_After nights like this, I like a good bowl of clam chowder. I don' t know. It helps me sleep." 

"Clam Chowder?" Leo asked. 

"No," Mallory warned. "Daddy, remember your cholesterol." 

"You won't let me forget," Leo replied. 

"It's New England style," Sam continued. "Not Manhattan. I like a lot of things about Manhattan, but not their clam chowder. Hungry, Leo? You are looking a little gaunt. You look better than you did though. Much better. Then again, no one ever looks good falling to the pavement." 

"You'd better leave," Leo said flatly. "Now. Wouldn't want your chowder to get cold." 

"Right," Sam agreed. "It's not as good reheated. That's why I carried it in here. It's cold out there. Leaving it in the car would have cooled it too quickly. Well, take it easy, Leo. We've got this thing under control. I mean, it's like you're right there with us, only its not like that at all. You know what I mean." 

"Actually, Sam, most times I do not," Leo answered. 

Sam departed, abandoning Leo to Nurse Mallory. He continued to complain about her rules violating the Constitution, the Geneva Convention and any number of unwritten father/daughter laws he felt were more than reasonably obvious. She weathered the storm and kept her distance by reading in the kitchen. The hours rolled by and he eventually grew quiet. She knew he was not sleeping. The terse rustling of the newspaper let her know he was reading under protest. 

The dark hours marched onward. As the clock approached 10 p.m., there was another knock on the door. This visitor Mallory had been expecting for quite some time. 

"Hey, Josh," Mallory said to him as he stood on the darkened stoop. 

His hands were jammed into his pockets and his shoulders were hunched. Her first inclination was to make a crack about him starring in a Cold War movie, but the look on his face stopped her. He looked as inwardly lost as he was outwardly tired. 

"Come in," she said easily as she stepped back from the door. 

"I know it's late," he shrugged as he spoke softly. "Can I see him?" 

"Sure," Mallory nodded. "I was wondering when you'd end up here. Margaret said you might stop by; she told Daddy, too. He's been sort of waiting. I mean, everyone else has called or stopped to see him; he's beginning to feel neglected by you." 

"I sent e-mail," Josh said feebly without stepping inside. "I... I was tied up." 

"You weren't avoiding him?" 

I wasn't," he replied unconvincingly. 

"That's not what Margaret says," Mallory said, pulling him into the house by his arm and closing the door swiftly behind him. She took his jacket. 

"Margaret doesn't know everything," Josh said with a shrug. "Just a little bit about a lot of things." 

"I'm sure," Mallory nodded as she gestured toward the living room where Leo was quietly reading an edited version of the day's paper. "Don't get him too worked up, and ignore any comments about the newspaper." 

"How is he?" Josh asked, reluctant to enter the room. 

"About 50 percent better than the way you felt after you came home from the hospital," Mallory said. 

Josh nodded. He'd been fine, he remembered that. He also remembered having a warden. 

"Donna had to hide my keys," he said. 

"He's already asked for those," Mallory said. "Three times." 

"Actually, Donna was flat out cruel about it," Josh recalled as he stalled before stepping out of the kitchen. "She put them on top of the fridge. I knew they were there, but I couldn't get them." 

"She was taking care of you when you couldn't do it for yourself," Mallory said. "She was making sure you rested." 

"I didn't need to rest," Josh answered. "I was fine." 

"You couldn't even touch your toes," Mallory reminded him. 

"On a daily basis in doing my job, touching my toes never even ranks in the top 1,000 things asked of me," Josh noted. 

"Are you here to annoy me or see him?" 

"I could just bug you," Josh offered. 

"And while I would absolutely love that, it might do Dad some good to see you," Mallory said, nudging him toward the living room. "Just don't rile him up too much, okay?" 

"Who? Me?" Josh remarked amid her glare. "Seriously, Mal, the dagger looks would normally go far with me... Okay, not far, but I'd feign terror or something, just not after the last few days." He patted her on the shoulder as he stepped toward the living room. "Better work on something else." 

Josh entered the room. It was mostly dark except for a table lamp illuminating the newspaper in Leo's hands. He wore a navy colored terry cloth robe and what appeared to be freshly pressed light blue cotton pajamas with leather slippers. His glasses were perched on his notes, and he snarled as he read the few sections of the paper Mallory had allowed into his possession. 

"Winter white?" Leo grumbled as he read the fashion and trends section. "What the hell is winter white?" 

"What are you doing?" Josh asked in astonishment. "Checking out hemlines?" 

"Who in the hell in this Martha Stewart?" Leo asked as he looked up. 

"From my understanding, she's like an Anti-Christ who lives in Connecticut," Josh replied. 

"Oh, one of yours?" 

"I didn't say it with pride," Josh reminded him. "And, for the record, I don't think she's a native." 

"So, Sam told me that the nose count was wrong," Leo said folding the paper and letting it drop to the floor so business could begin. 

"It was," Josh nodded and sighed as he walked toward the window and rested on the sill. "So was the recount." 

"How good does it look?" 

"I'm not using the word good right now," Josh replied. 

"How reasonable then?" Leo prodded. 

"First, I've been told not to rile you up or discuss work too seriously," Josh explained. "We both acknowledge that's pretty much impossible, right?" 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. "I won't tell if you won't." 

"Finally, an instance where the military policy works for me," Josh quipped. "I'm just making sure we did the full disclosure bit up front." 

"We're good," Leo agreed. 

"Okay," Josh sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Hard numbers separate us by seven states. Soft ones by five." 

"The time frame for making that up?" 

"This thing is going down to the wire," Josh said firmly breaking the bad news. "The strong money is that we're going to lose," 

Leo digested it quietly with a slow nod. He looked at Josh and shook his head. 

"We sank too much money with Davis in the midterms," Leo said. "We should have backed Graham and Delloy." 

"Delloy won," Josh said mystified at why a junior senator from Kansas was of concern. 

"I meant the other Delloy," Leo scolded him. "Michigan." 

"Oh, right," Josh shook his head. 

That he hadn't made the connection worried him; he was more tired than he let himself realize. Josh let his eyes roam the room for a moment, refusing to meet Leo's eyes or gaze in his general direction if possible. 

"We should have paid more attention to Ohio," Josh added eventually. 

"What are you going to do?" Leo asked. "The President came to see me the other day. He mentioned something about those things that you do that we don't really talk about except that we do so I'm asking you: What's your plan? What do you intend to do? Who've you got that you aren't saying you've got?" 

Josh turned to face the front window, looking out on the quiet, darkened street and sighed. 

"No one," he said simply. 

"Josh," Leo scoffed. 

"No one," Josh sighed. "I'm serious. The well's dry, Leo. I've got nothing. No one. Nadda, zip, zilch, el... uh, um.... I've got nothing. I'm... I'm done. I failed. I blew it; that's the ball game, coach." 

Leo shook his head as he stared at Josh's back. The guilt surrounded him like a halo; it was nothing new. Josh believe in a lot of things, Leo knew. He believed in himself and his abilities but he believed in his own fallibility even more. It served him at times--keeping him humble in appropriate moments and allowed him to admit he was wrong without a bloody fight with his pride. Still, those were not the Josh Lyman traits Leo needed leading the campaign right now. He needed the other guy--the mouth piece, the attack dog, the self-proclaimed master politician; the man who boasted he could slay serpents who wore single- and double-breasted suits. 

"I'm only saying this once because you're too smart to need it repeated," Leo explained. "You didn't lose this election, Josh. Like you told me Election Night, we just didn't win. What happened was a team effort. We had more of the popular vote and more electoral votes and but for a little thing called the Constitution..." 

"Yeah," Josh nodded. "This isn't second guessing my past choices, Leo. I did that. Hell, I went past second guessing. I was at third, fifth, ninth probably when I stopped. Leo, I keep running next week over and over in my head." 

"And what happens?" 

"Same thing every time," Josh shrugged. "We lose. Leo..." 

"What?" Leo said gruffly. " Josh, I think we've been through enough that you can just blurt out whatever it is. You never seem to feel restrained at the office where I'd like a little restraint so out with it." 

"Do you believe in the impossible?" Josh asked, feeling awkward. It was a childish question but one that had been nagging him for some time. 

Rather than snap some quick and cutting quip back at him, Leo surprised Josh. He looked down and seemed to contemplate his response for a moment. After a pause, he offered his thoughts. 

"I don't know what's impossible--not really," Leo said. "No one would ever make me the captain of the optimists team, but I know facts. So this is what I know: The Titanic sunk; man split the atom and walked on the moon; the Berlin Wall fell and I figured out how to program my VCR without the help of Mallory's students. The strong money said those things would never happen, but they did. I also know this: You didn't come this far to lay down and die; I and an hell of a lot of other guys taught you better than that." 

"Yes, sir," Josh agreed quietly, though the exhaustion in his mind told him he was crazy to do so. 

"Josh, tell me something," Leo said sternly. "Why won't you look at me? It's either the floor or the window. I know you're not used to me in my robe. To tell you the truth, I'm not used to it, but would you just look at me? Thank you. We've got a lot going on, so let me clear up this little bit for you. Now, hear this: I'm not dying. Not even close." 

Josh looked at the intensity in Leo's eyes and the firmness in his voice. This man was far from being over and ready for burial. Josh nodded then responded. 

"You sure?" Josh smirked. "'Cause it looks like you were reincarnated as Hugh Heffner." 

"You recall that I can fire you, right?" 

Josh's smirk disappeared more quickly that Leo liked. He let Josh have his fun once in a while; though Leo did not always fully appreciate his deputy's sense of humor, he gave Josh a long leash with it. A little tug was all he usually needed to step back in line. However, in this instance, the reaction was so sudden it looked like whiplash. 

"Yeah," Josh said, ducking his head and heading toward the door. "I should go." 

"Josh," Leo summoned him back. "What is it? You're not telling me something." 

Josh looked back at him, knowing he could never deceive this man--knowing he never wanted to. 

"You'd tell me if it was time to update my resume, right?" Josh asked bluntly. 

He could tell from Leo's reaction that the answer was not clear to him either. Leo's face was a mix of emotion. He knew more than he could say, but also didn't know the whole story either. Josh shook his head, signaling that he would not pursue his question further. 

"You've gotta keep your head in this game, do you hear me," Leo said firmly. "We'll worry about the other stuff later." 

"We will?" Josh asked. It was the '_we'_ that gave him a glimmer of hope. 

"You do this right, and I might have a hard time getting my office back," Leo said with more confidence than was evident in his expression. 

Josh nodded. He still had Leo's support--the one thing he wasn't questioning. Leo was one of the few people in Washington that Josh trusted implicitly. Leo could see that in Josh's expression and it pained him on one level--the things he had done or condoned in the last year for the good of the campaign did not speak kindly to his trust in his deputy. Still, none of that mattered now. 

"Margaret is gonna need a vacation when this is over," Josh said, opting to ignore the troubled look on Leo's face. "At least I stopped calling her Donna. That's something." 

"Hey, I'm just glad she's still there," Leo quipped. "After listening to you for a while..." 

"Great acoustics in your office, by the way," Josh grinned. 

"Don't get comfortable in my chair," Leo ordered. "I have four more years in it." 

"Not according to the New York Post,'" Josh said. "I read today that we might be burying you any hour now. So I'd be careful with your admonishments." 

"Get out." 

"Yes, sir," Josh nodded then added softly as he winked and shook Leo's hand formally. "I'll call you tomorrow." 

Leo looked at him with pride as the Chief of Staff palmed the cellular phone Josh had slipped into his hand. 

"You have always been my favorite," Leo said in a quiet, conspiratorial and thankful tone. 

Josh left with a quick good night to Mallory who had stayed respectfully out of earshot during the discussion. She returned after showing him to the door and bidding him good night. She sat on the couch near her father and looked at him thoughtfully for several moments. She had observed her father in many circumstances and seen him interact with the staff many times before and one thing always struck her. 

"Daddy, why does he do that?" Mallory asked. 

"What?" 

"Why does Josh call you 'Sir'?" she asked. "He's known you longer than anyone on staff except the President, yet whenever I've seen him finish a meeting with you or end a conversation with you, it's always with 'yes, sir' or 'thank you, sir.' Why?" 

"He calls me Leo, too," her father corrected her. 

"I know, but usually at the end of a discussion, it's usually the 'sir' that I hear," she said. 

"I'm his boss," Leo shrugged. He had noted it many times as well but didn't think anything of it. 

"You're also Toby's boss and Sam's and CJ's, and they don't say that," Mallory noted. 

"It's just Josh's way," Leo said. 

"He's not the most proper member of the staff," Mallory said. "The prize always goes to Sam for manners; CJ next probably. But never Josh." 

"I don't know, Mallory," Leo said. "It's just how he is with me, I guess." 

"He respects you a lot, Daddy," Mallory said thoughtfully. 

"Mmm," Leo grunted as he looked at the newspaper again, not wanting to have this discussion. 

"I mean it," she continued. "He really does, Daddy. Josh thinks a lot of you. I think he'd do just about anything for you." 

"He's done a lot for me," Leo said gruffly. "He's a just good deputy." 

"It's more than that and you know it," she remarked.   
  


**Up Next, Chapter 25: _Follow The Leader_**


	25. Follow The Leader

**Title**:** THE QUEST, _Follow The Leader_**_ (Chapter 25)_   
**Authors**: **Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247**   
**Webpage: http:// wing_nuts.tripod.com**   
**Note**: Thanks to all our fans. What a long and wonderful ride it's been. This is the end of THE QUEST, but the storyline continues in a new series with the sequel: HEAVEN AND HELL. (Oh, and Mr. Sorkin: Thanks. We _were_ sending Sam out of the West Wing to be a Senator in a few months. So much for our original idea. Back to the keyboard...) 

***************** 

_The White House_   
_CJ Cregg's Office_   
_Dec. 8, 6:52 a.m._

CJ entered the office before the sun graced the District with its pale December rays. She had only been home for four hours before she needed to return to begin the day. She was not surprised when she arrived to see Toby's car in the parking lot. She wasn't sure if there was dust or frost on the hood for it seemed to leave the lot so rarely lately. Her plan for the day was to prep for the morning briefing; stay awake through the afternoon meetings and get home before midnight. That had been her plan since Election Night. So far, she had failed, but there was always room for hope, she told herself. 

"There's something you should see," Carol said, holding out a page from the wires as CJ entered her office and took off her coat. "They're carrying it this morning." 

CJ sat at her desk and put on her glasses. She read the blurb twice then looked up bewildered. 

"No," she shook her head. "This is not... They didn't call anyone here for a comment?" 

"Apparently not," Carol said. "They don't quote her, not exactly. I mean, they spoke to her and she told them..." 

"Yeah, I see what she said," CJ read the statement again. " '_It's none of your business who received my vote_.' Then later '_when asked if she could deny that she didn't vote for the President, Lyman said she could not_.' Does Josh..." 

"He knows," Carol said as CJ stood instantly and made for the door. However, she ran Carol's words through her mind again and then spun around. "He knows? I thought you said no one here commented or was called?" 

"That's right, but she told him," Carol said. "Not that there was going to be a story, but apparently Josh's mother told him right after the convention that she was not going to vote for the President. I mentioned the story to him about two minutes before you got here this morning." 

"And?" 

"He said nothing," Carol reported. "He looked at this, shrugged and said, 'Y_eah, she told me at the convention that she wouldn't vote for us_.' Then he left. That's all." 

"That's all?" CJ retorted. "That's a bit odd, don't you think?" 

"A bit odd and Josh are sort of synonymous in my mind," Carol said with a shrug. "Toby's waiting for you. He's working on something about this for your briefing." 

"Does the President know?" 

"I don't know," Carol said. "But I wouldn't want to be Josh after someone tells him." 

"Great," CJ nodded and started for Toby's office. "Okay, I need the thing on Oklahoma we were working with yesterday, and, oh yeah, would you print a copy of my resume. I'm resigning before lunch." 

***************** _Chief of Staff's Office_   
_1:23 p.m._

Josh entered from the Oval Office after a stilted meeting between the President and the Secretary of Agriculture. The story of his mother's choice had not been mentioned, but Josh could see it in the President's eyes. He knew and the President was not pleased. The day had been long and was not going to get any shorter. Josh was hoping for a few minutes to himself before his next meeting/teleconference, but was denied as he noted the visitors in the room: Toby, CJ and Sam all stood near the desk apparently waiting for Josh. 

"What are you doing here?" Josh asked as he dropped into Leo's chair. 

"We want to see you," CJ said. 

Josh looked at her quizzically. In the pause between replies, Margaret buzzed the intercom. 

"Josh, he's on line two," Margaret announced. 

"Thanks," Josh said, stabbing the button then turning back to the group in the room. "CJ, what's going on? Make this quick." 

"Josh, we're your friends," CJ said. "This isn't about who outranks who or any of that right now. We're all here because we want to tell you.... We want you to know that we're here for you." 

"I know," Josh nodded. "You're here in my... well, Leo's office. I'm busy. If you've got a thing, it can wait. Get out." 

Sam stepped forward. CJ and he had started talking over lunch and between them had decided that this needed to be done. Josh wasn't reacting to the loss of Leo in an appropriate manner. He wasn't speaking about it, and from all reports he hadn't even been to see Leo. They weighed the possible scenarios and decided it was time for action. 

"Josh, I know you've had a rough couple of days... well, it's more than a week actually," Sam began. "I just want you to know that I'm here, pal." 

"Again, I can see that," Josh said suspiciously. "Thanks.... _pal_. Now tell me, what the hell is going on." 

Toby sighed explosively as he looked up from his notebook. He was trying to put together some punchy quotes for his appearance on Larry King that evening. This escapade was cutting into his writing time. 

"CJ thinks....," Toby growled. 

"Toby," CJ said silencing his descent. "We are _all_... concerned." 

"About?" Josh asked. 

"That you're going nuts again," Toby answered. 

"Toby!" Sam scolded. 

Josh's jaw dropped slightly. He looked down at the phone then back up at those gathered. The smirk started in his eyes then spread to his lips and trickled out as a chuckle. 

"I'm tired of this After School Special already," Toby said. 

"No, but all means," Josh grinned. "Continue. Amy told me last night that I misplaced my sense of humor weeks ago. This might do the trick." 

"Josh, we're serious," Sam pleaded. 

"Well, I've gotta say that I'm having a hard time responding in the same vein," Josh replied. 

"Josh, this... event," CJ began. 

"She means Leo's invalid impersonation," Toby offered. CJ and Sam glared at him. "Just speeding things along. I've got real work to do." 

"Let me commend you for your compassion," Sam said. "I would think that after what we've all been through that you'd understand...." 

"Okay, I think I know where you're going with this," Josh cut in. "I know everything has been extra stressful here lately. I appreciate the concern. Now, could we all go back to work or at least leave me alone so I can?" 

"Yes, you've been under pressure," CJ agreed. "On the outside, we all are. What I'm saying is that an event like this can have lingering effects inside." 

"Like you losing their grip on reality?" Josh asked. 

"Josh, we're not trying to fight with you," Sam assured him. 

"Okay, you keep looking at me like that and it's starting to scare me, " Josh observed. 

"You could just chalk it up to Sam's affinity for circling the wagons for no reason," Toby shrugged. 

"He's not going to put on a cowboy hat is he?" Josh asked. "'Cause really, the indians aren't storming the fort. You can put the musket down, Custard." 

"You do know what happened to Custard, don't you Sam?" Toby chided. 

"We're not having a history lesson," Sam interjected. "Could we stay focused?" 

"That would be a first," Toby nodded. "Because staying focused is something we should try around here; I'm not all that fond of gallivanting off on some godforsaken cause." 

"Depends on your view of the election," Margaret said from the outer room. 

"Thank you," Josh called to her. "Guys, is there anyway you could have this discussion without me?" 

"You can talk to us," Sam said. "First, things aren't so hot here in the office between you and.... well.... Then the election gets hung up and Donna leaves you. I mean, leaves to go home. Now Leo. That's a lot. We just want you to know that when you need to talk, you can trust us." 

"Not when you're acting like this," Josh said. "This is pretty creepy so I'm going to ask you to stop." 

"We've noticed that you haven't been yourself lately," CJ noted. 

"Speak for yourself: He's been arrogant and caustic and argumentative," Toby mused. "Sounds normal to me." 

"We're worried about you," Sam said with a dagger glare at Toby. 

"Well, you're all scaring the hell out of me so let's call it even," Josh said, wishing he had a crash button his phone to have them all removed. 

"Okay, right now, I'd like to mention that I'm here under protest," Toby commented and returned to his notebook. 

"We need to get serious here," Sam said and stepped closer to the desk. "Josh, when we worry about you.... when we see you like this, it hurts us." 

"What is that supposed to mean to me precisely?" Josh asked. 

"Well, I.. I.... I don't know," Sam stammered. "You're supposed to tell the person their behavior hurts you." 

"What am I doing that is hurting you?" Josh asked. 

"Please, tell us, Sam," Toby rejoined the conversation. "You seem to be the emotional cruise director today." 

"Well... there's.... CJ called this thing..." 

"It was your idea," she shot back instantly. "Sam came to me." 

"So this is the Three Stooges do an intervention?" Josh surmised. "Thank you for your time. You can all go now." 

"Josh..." 

"No, Sam," Josh cut him off. "This stopped being funny for about two minutes." 

"We're your friends," Sam pleaded. 

"You're also doing a good impression of lunatics," Josh added. 

"You're like family to us," Sam continued. 

"To them--not me," Toby said under his breath as he worked on his quotes. "I have one brother. I don't need another." 

"Thank you," Josh said, standing and pointing to the door. "This was both entertaining and embarrassing. Let's not doing it again sometime." 

"Good idea," said the gravely voice over the speaker phone. 

"Leo?" the three visitors said in unison. 

"Yeah, folks we can fit Josh for a straight jacket after the holidays," Leo said. "Until then, he's kind of busy." 

"Hey, don't bring me in on this," Toby argued. "I was forced to join them." 

"Guilt by association is part of life in Washington," Leo reminded him. "People, you're gonna make me want to slip into a coma if you keep this up." 

"We were just making sure that Josh is all right," Sam explained. 

"Sense when?" the Chief of Staff asked. 

"Valid question," Toby mumbled. 

"We just wanted to be sure," Sam started. 

"Okay, let me do this," Leo growled. "Josh?" 

"Yeah?" 

"How you doin'?" 

"I'm tired and want to this damn vote to be over with, Leo," Josh said confidently. 

"There, it's settled," Leo proclaimed. "He's fine." 

"Good," Toby said as he turned to leave. "We're done." 

"Hey, next time you want to try something radical, try working," Leo offered. 

***************** _Oval Office_   
_5:15 p.m._

The Labor Secretary had just left the room following disappointing news for the unemployment rate to begin the next quarter. It was to be expected with the markets going haywire due to the election limbo. The Fed Chairman hadn't done the economy any favors--in the President's estimation--when he lowered interest rates earlier that week. It gave the impression that the economy was indeed slowing. It did not speak well for the upcoming vote. Then again, Josh surmised out loud, little did in recent days. 

"Are you concerned about your job?" Bartlet asked hotly. "'Cause let me tell you..." 

"My job is the last one I'm concerned with," Josh said shaking his head and reading over his notes again. 

"From your tone, you seem to think it would improper for me to be concerned about mine," Bartlet remarked. 

Josh looked up from his notes and realized he had done it again. There had been no discussion all day about the news story out of Florida alleging his mother had not voted for the President and may have said so to a golfing partner who had a big mouth and grandson who worked for a newspaper. The tension in the room had been higher than most days, which was never good, but Josh thought perhaps it was just his anticipation of the President asking him his thoughts on his mother's choice. 

"I think we should be less interested in my tone and more interested in deciding who we should....," Josh began but was cut off as the President interjected. 

"My job affects millions of others," Bartlet told him unnecessarily. "That I happen to think keeping me employed in my current capacity greatly improves the prospects for those I just mentioned isn't self-serving. It's what I believe. You're on my staff; you ran the campaign. If you haven't figured that out, then I know why we didn't win on Election Night." 

"Due respect, Mr. President," Josh said. "But my name wasn't the one on the ballot." 

Bartlet looked back at the Deputy and narrowed his gaze. There was a veneer of respect only--most of in to be found in the fact the comment had not been shouted. Bartlet straightened his shoulders. 

"Right about now, you should be concerned about your job," Bartlet said in a cold, even tone. 

"Mr. President, my point--if I even had one and I'm not sure I did--was that I belive that the best use of your time is to be concerned less with me and more about the welfare of 265 million people and the jobs that go with them," Josh said in flat tones. 

"That's what you believe?" Bartlet said and shook his head. "Interesting take on faith you have there. Josh, you should learn a lesson from Job. God tested him because he trusted in Job's faith. Job didn't trust his own faith though. But in the end, God was right." 

"Well, with him being God and all, you kind of had to figure that," Josh shrugged. 

"I've learned that my faith doesn't fail me, even in the most dire of times," Bartlet scowled. 

"That's.... commendable, Mr. President," Josh said slowly, wanting to change the subject. 

"You don't believe that?" Bartlet asked in a calculating tone. "It's not about a divine destiny, you know. Religion isn't the blame of all problems. Human frailty; our pettiness; our greed; our lack of trust for one another. That's what causes strife." 

"What about disease?" Josh asked shaking his head. "Your God is responsible for testing the faith of Job and however many others. What is the point of cancer? Of suffering? To make us more human and more frail?" 

"You miss the point," Bartlet said, his pitch rising. "It forces us to make choices. I've learned more about myself and become a better person for the pitfalls that have found me in my lifetime. They're valuable lessons." 

"Well, I've learned all I care to learn through the awful grace of God, thank you very much," Josh said and turned back to reading. "Maybe you and I just define faith differently." 

This meeting was over as far as Josh was concerned, and he wanted to leave but didn't feel he was going to be set free so easily after his last comment. Bartlet eyed him with a laser stare that was unreadable but also unkind. 

"Faith, like justice, is what it is," Bartlet said. "You either have it or you don't; this latest discussion answers a few questions for me. You seem to have as little faith in my campaign as I do in your ability to run it. Justice would be that I won the election. I have faith in justice; its is one of the great levelers in the universe. I have faith in that. That you cannot join in that belief with me is your choice. Was it not Joseph Roux who said, '_We love justice greatly and just men but little_.' " 

Josh scoffed and shook his head as Charlie stepped into the room and hung close to the wall. 

"Is that disagreement I detect?" Bartlet asked, focusing on his staffer with a cold glare. 

"I don't even know who that is, sir," Josh said. "I try to keep religion and politics in separate corners as much as possible. They're in an unhealthy mix in my estimation. I'm not alone." 

"Yes, you and all the grade school children who believe government and religion are completely separate," Bartlet said as he placed his glasses on his nose and opened the memo in his hand to begin reading. "Apparently, I erred in thinking you could divine the point I was making." 

"No, I understood," Josh said feeling like the idiot the President was making him to be. "I guess I'm just more of a believer in the Thomas Jefferson school of thought. '_Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just_.' " 

"That is pure cynicism and borders on blasphemy when used in that context in the Oval Office," Bartlet warned him. "Jefferson was a hack and a hypocrite to some historians. I commend the man's accomplishments, but a man of God he was not. He did not live by his convictions so he was no different than so many others elevated to an unreachable heroic status. None of us are perfect, Josh. It's past time you learned that. I would have thought with your vast experience in politics that you would have already. Then again, I'm beginning to question the merits of you political experience after this election. Tell me, do you reserve the rose-colored glasses only for those select few who meet your definition of perfect? Leo will be the first to admit to his flaws, yet you revere him as though he were small-time deity. I don't seem to garner that kind of respect. Why? Did one have to bask in the glory of knowing your father before they can join this select club?" 

"I'm sorry?" Josh asked stunned by the question. 

"Respect is reciprocal thing," Bartlet said. "You get what you give. And let me tell you something else, your father was as flawed and inept as you deem the rest of us. You need not go any further than the transcript of a case he tried in the middle of his career: the Bennington case. Milo Reed told me about it. Your father bungled it so apparently even God didn't think the old man worthy of the title of perfect." 

Josh stared blankly back at the man, feeling the blood drain from his face. He blinked and listen to the silence that followed as it filled the room. 

"Nothing more to add?" Bartlet asked. "That will be all then." 

Josh nodded and left the room without another word. Charlie assumed this was done with great effort as he spied the look on Josh's face. Bartlet looked up after a moment, unaware the man had left. It struck him as odd; Josh hadn't closed the discussion with the customary--if perfunctory--"_Thank you, Mr. President_." 

"Mr. President," Charlie said, approaching the desk cautiously. 

"Not now," Bartlet said tersely. 

"Yes, sir," Charlie acquiesced with sigh. "The First Lady called. She won't be able to meet you for dinner; Ellie isn't feeling well so she's going to stay with her." 

"She's got a neurology final tomorrow," Bartlet nodded. "Fine. I'll eat in the residence." 

"Yes, sir," Charlie said. "Do you still want your requested hour of _hermitude_?" 

"That's really not a word, you know," Bartlet remarked. "But yes, if possible, I would like it." 

****************** _Toby Zielger's Office_   
_5:30 p.m._

Darkness filled the window panes as Toby and CJ sat in his office reviewing the latest round of statements issued by Ritchie's campaign regarding polls showing the Florida Governor ahead of the President in the House vote. The comments were biting and yet vague, making them difficult to combat from the podium without looking desperate. But there was a way. There had to be, Toby kept asserting. 

CJ sat on his couch, shaking her head and resisting the urge to chuckle. It wasn't a humorous situation, but at the same time she felt the respective campaigns were playing out some junior high student council fight. She was thinking of how to word that precisely when she saw Josh walking with a purposeful stride through the Communication's Bullpen. 

"Josh," she shouted, snagging his attention. "Come here. Toby and I were just talking about what _The New York Times_ is going to say about us after this week's poll." 

"They'll say that we're losing," Josh said unimaginatively. 

"Since things are so close, they are asking the question that appears to be in all of Kevin Khan's statements lately," Toby said. "What is the difference between Ritchie and Bartlet?" 

Without thinking or caring that he hadn't tried to censor himself, Josh answered. 

"At least Ritchie looks me in the eye when he offends me," Josh said. 

"Josh?" Toby said, dropping his notebook and taking in the Deputy for the first time. 

The muscles around his jaw were clenched, and there was a hard cold stare in his eyes. He had just come from the Oval Office, Toby surmised with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

"Have you seen Sam?" Toby asked mildly. "He needed to speak with . He just left to grab something to eat. He was heading to that Poppy Twit place. Could you maybe go catch up with him? He probably just got there." 

"Fine," Josh said then turned swiftly and departed. 

He left the bullpen and headed directly for the northwest lobby not bothering to grab his overcoat from his own office. Toby instantly lifted his phone and shook his head as he frantically dialed. 

"What did Sam need Josh for?" CJ asked puzzled by the exchange. 

"He didn't," Toby said to her then spoke into his phone. "Sam! It happened--that thing we feared.... No, I don't have details, but I've sent him to find you... No, I think he's walking..... He didn't have a coat with him even so he should be cooled off by the time he gets there.... Yeah, just now. Latch on to him and keep him away from here for a little while. I'm calling the calvary." 

Toby disconnected and dialed again. CJ, now both worried and intrigued, questioned him further. 

"Toby, what the hell is going on?" she asked, rising to her full height. 

"Find Charlie," he answered. "Ask him what just happened--tell him I need to know and that I'm calling Leo." 

"Ask him what?" 

"CJ, I think whatever is going on between Josh and the President just crossed the line from repressed animosity to a declaration of war," Toby said. "I'd like to control it before it ends up in a resignation or worse--a question in the briefing room. Go!" 

***************** _Oval Office_

"Charlie?" the President called. His aide returned promptly. "What's next?" 

"The Housing Secretary," Charlie said. "She's on her way now. Her deputy just called and said she should be here in 15 minutes and apologies for the delay." 

"Well, since I'm not endowed with the powers to say off with her head, I'll just hang out," Bartlet mused. Charlie did not react to the comment. 

"What is it?" Bartlet asked, taking his seat again. "Am I not the epitome of mirth?" 

"Mr. President, can I offer an observation?" 

"By all means." 

"About Josh," Charlie began but was cut off swiftly. 

"No," Bartlet shook his head. "I suppose you're going to say what you heard sounded harsh..." 

"No, sir," Charlie shook his head. "Not sounded. It was harsh. It bordered on mean and bullying, but that wasn't my point. I was just going to say it seems to me that it's not Josh that you want to fight with." 

"I don't want to fight with anyone, Charlie," Bartlet defended. "What's going on between Josh and me is not a petty spat that needs..." 

"I don't think it is between you and Josh," Charlie said quickly. "Not really. I don't think it's a petty spat, either. Maybe Josh has convinced himself that it is and that's how he keeps coming back for the next round, but thing isn't petty and it's not a spat." 

"It's not?" Bartlet asked, intrigued at the amateur psychology. 

"No, I think it's something more like jealousy," Charlie replied carefully. 

"I'm sorry?" Bartlet asked. "Jealousy? Maybe it's slipped everyone's mind because of this vote we're facing, but I am the President of the United States; I'm also a Nobel Laureate; I have a beautiful and brilliant wife and three amazing daughters who love and adore me. What could I possibly be jealous of Josh Lyman about?" 

"Okay, so maybe it's not precisely jealousy," Charlie relented. 

"Thank you," Bartlet nodded. 

"It's more like envy," Charlie countered. 

"Envy? Why?" 

"Same reason I envy him," Charlie shrugged. "I suppose quite a few people would." 

"Charlie." Bartlet's face questioned him further than his words. 

"It just seems to me....," Charlie said hesitantly. "I mean, I've notice over the last several months that you tend to become most vexed with him and stick those barbs in him around the times the same subject comes up. And you did ask to read his press bio back before the convention and then you asked to look at that court case from Connecticut..." 

"Charlie?" 

"His father," Charlie said. "I may be out of line here, sir, but it appears that maybe you are angry that he had his father whereas you... had yours. Maybe this election and how it turned out sort of..." 

"Your wrong," Bartlet said instantly and started reading the briefing memo on the upcoming meeting with the Housing Secretary--which as Bartlet realized, he would have to do without a staff member since he had dismissed Josh. "I'm neither envious nor am I jealous." 

"Okay," Charlie relented. "But I am. I don't remember my father, but if I could, I think I would kind of like it if he had been like the way Josh's father sounds." 

"Thank you," Bartlet said, not looking up. "That will be all." 

"Yes, sir," Charlie said. 

He left the Oval Office feeling relieved for two reasons. First, that he had spoken what had been on his mind for months. Second, that he had done so without angering the President. Charlie returned to his desk when CJ arrived. 

***************** _Toby Ziegler's Office_

Toby had weighed his options and possible actions. Eventually, he came back to his initial instinct and dialed the phone. Leo had to be informed. 

"Leo," Toby said when his summons was finally answered. "I know you're supposed to be resting, but we need you." 

"What happened?" the Chief of Staff asked. 

"I think we just had that meltdown," Toby replied. "I wasn't in the room, but Josh just came through here and.... It is apparent that things got hot. What happened precisely, I don't know. I'm finding out." 

"What did he say?" Leo asked sternly; he blamed himself for this latest turn. If he'd been in the office, the stress level for everyone would be lower and he could have steered clear of this land mine. 

"I don't what was said," Toby answered. "But I'm pretty sure he offended him." 

"How?" Leo asked. "If you don't know what Josh said... Tell me they haven't resorted to finger gestures." 

"Leo, I didn't mean the President was offended," Toby interrupted. "He may be, but I was speaking about Josh just then. I wouldn't believe it was true except that Josh stood in front of me and said it was so. Hold on." 

Toby covered the mouth piece as CJ returned to his office and reported her findings from the discussion with Charlie. Toby nodded his thanks and returned to the call. 

"None of this makes sense," Toby said. "Charlie wasn't in the room for whatever this thing was when it started. All he's saying is they were talking about Thomas Jefferson and some court case the President asked Charlie to look up after Thanksgiving." 

"What?" Leo asked. "Jefferson? What case?" 

"I don't know," Toby sighed. "Something called Bennington--whatever that is. I don't know." 

"Bennington? The only Bennington case I can think of is..." Leo groaned. "Oh, damn. Toby, let me take care of this. Where is Josh?" 

"I sent him to fetch Sam at his froo-froo coffee place," Toby said. 

"Find him," Leo ordered. "Do it quickly." 

***************** _Presidential Residence_   
_6:22 p.m._

"Mr. President, Leo is here," Charlie said, interrupting the President's dinner in the residence. 

"Leo?" Bartlet asked as he pushed his chair away from the table. "He's not supposed to be here." 

Leo entered a moment later dressed casually, meaning no necktie. His face was sporting that tight and perturbed look the staff knew all too well. Bartlet welcomed him into the quarters and gestured to a pair of chairs in the living room area. 

"You're certainly looking much better than you were a few days ago," Bartlet remarked grateful to see his old friend looking more like himself. "Rest did you good, but I don't think you should push yourself. You shouldn't be here." 

"That's for Congress to decide," Leo said gruffly. 

"Touché," Bartlet agreed. "How are your feeling?" 

"I'm fine," Leo said. 

"Should you be out in weather like this?" Bartlet asked. "It's barely 30 degrees out there." 

"I own a coat again," Leo said taking his seat. 

"I'm sorry?" Bartlet paused. "Again?" 

"Mallory," Leo shook his head. "She borrowed my topcoat last year for some school play or whatever and didn't return it." 

"So you're using that for guilt leverage to spring yourself from her clutches?" Bartlet smirked. 

"No," Leo shook his head, cursing himself for not thinking of the tactic. "I was allowed out today with her to go buy another. She can't find mine. Last time I wore it was in New Hampshire during the primary. We didn't have a winter after that." 

"You could skulk around the playground and look for a well dressed fifth grader playing on the monkey bars," Bartlet offered. 

"She thinks she sent it to the dry cleaners and forgot to pick it up," Leo explained. "With the holidays coming, every place is a zoo." 

"So long as you have a replacement now," Bartlet nodded. "Keep you all bundled up and warm so you don't get sick again." 

"Sir," Leo shook his head. 

"So what brings you here tonight?" Bartlet asked. "I just talked to you three hours ago. What's going on?" 

"We need to talk, Mr. President," Leo said, clasping his hands together and fixing the President with an even expression. "Just what the hell happened here today?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"I would hope you were, but I don't know it for certain," Leo said hotly. "This thing has got to stop." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You and Deputy Hothead," Leo said. "You're like two itchy gunslingers looking for a fight when you get in the same room together." 

"It's not like that," Bartlet protested. 

"You're right," Leo agreed. "Josh isn't the aggressor, which kind of surprises the hell out of me; he's taking the barbs and the jabs with more grace and patience than I thought he had. I guess today was different." 

"I don't know what you've heard," Bartlet said. "If he called you looking for a mediator then he's...." 

"I haven't talked to Josh," Leo said. "Mr. President, did you have Charlie do some research for you on an old lawsuit called Bennington?" 

"Yes," Bartlet said reluctantly. "That lawyer--the one from Pennsylvania--mentioned it." 

"Milo Reed," Leo nodded. 

"Yeah," Bartlet said. "I was curious about it; I read about it. The lead attorney for Bennington dropped the ball; they lost the case." 

"Did you say that to Josh?" Leo asked incredulously. 

"History and the court record says it," Bartlet defended. "It was the most complex case of the man's career, and he lost it." 

"Yes, Noah Lyman was the lead attorney for Bennington on the case," Leo said unnecessarily. "Initially, he was. And yes, Bennington lost. What the hell does that have to do with anything going on here now?" 

"We were just talking," Bartlet growled. "We're informal in the office at times, Leo! The subject came up. Are you telling me that I got it wrong? That his father wasn't removed as lead counsel and then the client didn't lose a multi-million dollar lawsuit even though the transcript clearly shows all this? Is that what set Josh off? His father wasn't perfect and someone had the audacity to point it out?" 

Leo looked at his friend and shook his head. He should have seen this; it was so simple in retrospect. The President wasn't mad at Josh--never had been. This was an old enemy he was fighting. 

"Mr. President, I think you were out of line," Leo said calmly. "Noah wasn't removed from the case. He was replaced." 

"Your loyalty to your friend is admirable," Bartlet said. "But Leo, semantics." 

"No, sir," Leo said shaking his head. "He stepped down about two weeks into the trial because..." 

"Because he was in over his head?" Bartlet ventured. "I read the case, Leo. It was a monster of a case, I can see that." 

"Noah was a monster of a litigator," Leo replied. "He wasn't over his head, Mr. President. Not legally anyway. Personally, he was drowning. About two weeks after the opening statements, he had had to bury his only daughter. He felt his place at that time was taking care of his wife and son; they were more important to him than that court room." 

Bartlet looked back at Leo thoroughly stunned. He had paid no attention to the dates in the trial synopsis. Not that they would have meant anything to him. He knew of the fire in Josh's childhood, but he was unaware of how old Josh was when it occurred. Leo observed the look on Bartlet's face then nodded. 

"That was the case Noah was trying when it happened," Leo said. "Prep for the case took weeks of 20 hour days. Once things appeared to be going smoothly, Noah took Anna out to dinner to thank her for her patience and understanding. They left the kids at home for a few hours. Then..." 

"My God," Bartlet said and hung his head. "I... He never said...." 

"Of course he didn't," Leo growled. 

"Leo, I didn't know." 

"I know," Leo nodded. "But, considering how things have been lately, I gotta ask: If you had known, would you have said what you said anyway?" 

"Leo!" Bartlet snapped. "How can you...." 

"Why did you say it at all?" Leo asked. 

"I told you," Bartlet argued. "We were talking about the election and...." 

"No, sir," Leo countered. "You said something about a lesson. Something about pointing out to him that his father wasn't perfect--as if Josh didn't know that. Just tell, explain to me: How is someone you've never met and who has been dead for years related to this election? Mr. President?" 

Bartlet shook his head. He didn't know. At the time, in the heat of the discussion... 

"I don't know," Bartlet said. 

***************** _The Jefferson Memorial_   
_7 p.m._

Josh had walked for nearly an hour and a half after leaving the office, eventually finding himself on the far side of the Tidal Basin. It was natural that he go there, he suspect. It had been his first taste of Washington. When he was a child, fourth grade, his father had taken him to the city for the first time. They had stayed in a hotel in Virginia, just over the District line. It had been a sweltering August day and the first place Josh saw was the Jefferson Memorial. He had marveled at the size of it and the statue within. But what he marveled at more was the way his father looked when he read the words chiseled on the walls. Josh had read them, too, feeling like he was in social studies class again. But for some reason, hearing the words spoken by his father made them make more sense. 

Josh stood there again, in much different weather, reading the words again and feeling very small and insignificant in the sight of them. 

_How do you write this for the first time? How do you dream this up? We run this city, this country, based on these words--and we think that's hard. The hard part was done for us. I don't have this kind of genius._

Josh rubbed his hands together, feeling the cold for the first time as he realized he was wearing just his suit coat. His overcoat, gloves and scarf back at the office still. He could see his breath as he blew on his hands. Night had fallen completely and the wind off the Chesapeake was picking up causing ripples in the Tidal Basin and dropping the temperature further. It might snow tonight, he thought as he exchanged nods with the Park Police Officer standing watch at the monument. The man surely thought he was crazy as he kept his eye on Josh. 

_I may be. I'd have to be after today. Why did I say it? Why didn't I just nod and take it like I have every time since... since.... I don't even remember the last time he wasn't displeased with me. Probably the last time we looked good in the polls. It's not supposed to be like this. Leo said giving up is not an option, but I don't think I'm dedicated enough for this. I mean, there's dedication and then there's dedication. Like this guy. Writes the Declaration of Independence; serves his country; is President and is so married to this idea that he even dies on July Fourth. His thoughts on his deathbed are for the future of the country he's leaving behind; he even remarks that at least.... No wait, that was Adams talking about Jefferson. They died the same day. Adams was the one who.... Adams?_

"Ha!" Josh laughed suddenly, his voice echoing off the chilled pillars. "That's it!" 

"What's it?" Sam asked suddnely by his side, throwing Josh's coat over his shoulders. "I've been looking for you for more than an hour. The only reason I found you was one of Margaret's friends called and said she saw you here and wondered if the President was going to visit the monument." 

"What?" Josh asked, struggling into his jacket as he registered that Sam was indeed there and speaking to him. 

"I said that I've been...." 

"Never mind," Josh cut him off excitedly. "Sam! Ha! I've got it! I mean, I know. We all know, but it's possible. That's why we know! It was Adams--I mean, not that Adams but the other one. Wait, I was talking to myself about that part. But that doesn't matter. In 1824, it worked because he knew how to work the back room. So that's what we forgot. Don't you see?" 

"No," Sam said slowly. "What do you see, Josh?" 

"No, not _see_ see," Josh shook his head. "I mean, I know how we can do this. How we can win. We just need the votes." 

"That's great," Sam said nodding and wondering how quickly and quietly he could get Josh admitted some place to be treated for what was likely hypothermia. "Why don't you come with me now and explain it all in my car?" 

"You have a car?" Josh asked as they started down the steps. "Of course you do. That's how you got here! Great thinking, Sam! We have to go to the office. Get the staff. We're having a meeting." 

"Josh, I think it would be best of you went home and...." 

"Sam," Josh turned suddenly and looked him firmly in the eyes. "I haven't lost my mind. Trust me; I know what I'm doing. We can win this thing. We can do it because we're not the outsiders. They keep saying that being a beltway insider is a bad thing. But it's not. Know why?" 

"Why?" Sam asked. 

"Because we know them," Josh said simply and nodded. "Everyone who is going to vote--we know them. They know us. Ritchie's got people who know them too, but we've been here. We have the home court advantage, and we haven't used it enough. Now is the time. So, get on your phone and call Toby. We're having a meeting and everyone who wants to win this vote better be there." 

Sam nodded and dialed his phone as they made their way to the parking lot behind the monument. 

"Toby, I've got him," Sam said as they climbed into the vehicle. "You need to call a staff meeting. Get Bruno, too." 

"Why?" Toby asked. "What did he do?" 

"Nothing, it's what he wants to do," Sam said, starting to put together the missing pieces in Josh's recent proclamation. "It's either hypothermia or an epiphany." 

"It's both," Josh grinned wickedly as he rubbed his hands together near the vents as Sam started the heater. "That's why it'll work." 

***************** _Capitol Beat_   
_Dec. 11, 10 p.m._

"The Bartlet Administration is giving long, serious and perhaps forlorn looks up the street as their opponents have quietly begun a victory dance," Host Mark Gottfried said as his introduction for the segment. "The Republicans narrowly control the House, and GOP insiders are confident the vote on Friday is a lock. But don't count the Democrats out. This morning, Deputy White the _Washington Post_ quotes House Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman as giving notice that President Bartlet's team is approaching this upcoming vote in the House like Samuel Johnson vowing 'if we can't out-vote them we'll out-argue them.' Joining me now is White House Deputy Communication's Director Sam Seaborn. So, any bets?" 

Sam grinned at Mark and the camera sheepishly. Since Josh's epiphany/hypothermia episode at the Jefferson Memorial two days earlier, Sam had been the campaign's leading spokesman. Keeping Josh under wraps was Sam's idea--a precautionary measure--but it seemed to be a good idea. The guy was turning into an insomniac to rival Toby. They were letting him out for limited media exposure, but they were supervised excursions. But it was working for them. Whatever had happened, Josh's epiphany at the national monument had given him his second wind. 

"Well, let me put it this way," Sam said casually. "I don't bet with Josh; I don't bet against Josh. I... I just stand back and enjoy the show." 

"So you're not as confident," Mark inferred. 

"Oh, I'm confident," Sam said. "I'm just not quoting Samuel Johnson; I'm frankly surprised Josh did, but then again, Josh always surprises me. But if you're asking me do we have a good chance to win this vote next week? My answer is an unequivocal yes. We are reaching out to all members of Congress--we're talking to every last one one of them in the next three or four days--and I can tell you that we are getting support across party lines. I think the GOP insiders you quote are sorely mistaken if they think just because a member ran on their ticket that Governor Ritchie can automatically count on that support. Gov. Ritchie's platform is not friendly to a lot of states. It punishes vast segments of the population including but not limited to the middle class, minorities, single mothers, students, senior citizens. Republican congressmen are not going to forsake their constituents out of a sense of duty to the Party." 

"You're predicting that members will be breaking ranks?" Gottfried asked. 

"I'm not predicting it," Sam said. "I'm telling you it will happen; it's happening right now. The Republicans seem to think this vote is a scene from H.M.S. Pinafore. As if Congressmen are suddenly going to break into chorus singing: _I always voted at my party's call, and I never thought of thinking for myself at all._ These are wise men and women who are voting this week, and they know who won the election." 

"You're still claiming victory?" 

"The President won," Sam said. "All tallies have the President receiving more of the popular vote than his opponent, and he has more electoral votes." 

"But not the required 270," Gottfried pointed out. 

"If we had pursued this more vigorously in the courts, we'd have those, too," Sam responded. "We went this route because it allows for the will of the people to be done swiftly, openly and in the most democratic fashion." 

"That is the view from the left," Gottfried said as he turned to face the cameras. "After this break, I'll be speaking with Kevin Khan from the right. We'll be back in a moment." 

***************** **To**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
**From**: d_tellamoss@yahoo.com   
**Date**: 12DEC2002   
**Time**: 10:02   
**Subject**: "Hello, you must be going" 

_I just watched a Marx Brother's movie with Dad, and I think there are definite similarities between you and Captain Spaulding._

_I just wanted to drop you a short note to wish you luck in the next few days. You're hard person to track down. I tried to get you at home, on your cell, in the office; you don't answer messages or take calls any longer it seems. I thought of trying carrier pigeon, but I think there is some sort of hunting season or other going on currently so the prospects were not good._

_Margaret said things were hectic but not out of hand. Apparently with a little training and practice you might even learn her name. I wanted you to know that I will not be back by the 18th. Dad has had another set back and now surgery is unavoidable. They are trying to schedule it for next week, but its apparently not an easy matter._

_I sent Margaret a quick reference list for material you need most often when the new legislative term begins. Despite news reports, I remain hopeful that this administration will be the one ushering in the next term. With that in mind, I sent Margaret the list and where to find certain resources. She will be discussing with you the necessity of you retaining some more permanent, full-time assistance._

_I wish I could be there with you all this week. I feel like I am letting you all down. Especially you. You have done so much for me._

_At least I do not need to worry about you personally. Sam tells me that Amy is becoming a faithful companion again. You should be nice to her; you're not an easy person to deal with in regular circumstances. Recent events can't have improved things._

_I will check in after the vote._

_Best of luck,_   
_Donna_

****

**To**: d_tellamoss@yahoo.com   
**From**: Joshua.Lyman@whitehouse.gov   
**Date**: 14DEC2002   
**Time**: 01:15   
**Subject**: Re:"Hello, you must be going"   


_I had ADP raid your computer for your info. lists the day you took extended leave. Thanks for offering anyway._

_How long are you going to be gone or were you giving your notice?_

_JL_

_Ps. The only thing Groucho and I have in common is rapier wit and a nodding acquaintance with Judaism._

*** Margaret gathered the folders Josh was requesting in the Roosevelt room and noted his e-mail was still open on his computer. She knew it was improper to read other people's mail, but she hadn't heard from Donna in several days and that was odd. Margaret was worried so when she saw a message to Donna in Josh's SENT folder, she felt obligated to read it. 

"Margaret?" Josh asked, leaning into the room. "The folders? What are you doing? Did it crash?" 

"What?" Margaret said, looking up from the screen. "Oh, no. I can't believe what you said." 

"When?" Josh asked as he approached and looked at the laptop screen as she read it again. 

"This is what you wrote?" Margaret asked. 

"What are you doing reading my mail?" 

"Nothing," she replied guiltily. 

"This is private," he argued. 

"It's less personal than a form letter," she informed him. 

"Is it bad?" he asked curiously. 

"It's not good," Margaret shook her head. 

"It's not?" 

"No," she informed him. "Josh, you didn't even ask about her father. You didn't ask about anything." 

"I did, too," he protested. "I asked how long she was going to be gone." 

"You were cold and impersonal and you asked for her letter of resignation," Margaret said. "You dismissed her." 

"I fire Donna for sport," he said trying to explain himself as he reread his words. "She knows that." 

"You asked her to return or give you a formal letter of resignation," Margaret said. "That's different than your pathetic attempts to win an argument by firing her when she has a valid point." 

"Hey, this is my letter that you read," he argued and resisted the urge to fire Margaret. Leo would kill him if he even thought it. 

"You shouldn't be so proud of that," Margaret said, gathering the folders on the desk. 

"I thanked her," Josh stabbed his finger at the screen. "Right there. I thanked her." 

"I'm sure that will make all the difference," Margaret said as she headed out the door. "Don't forget Toby and Sam are in the Roosevelt Room about Iowa and Ohio." 

***************** _The White House_   
_December 15_   
_8:30 a.m._

Morning meandered through the West Wing as the day of the deciding vote arrived. The staff, most of whom had not left the building the night before, was clustered in small meetings to let each other know there was nothing more to know or do. Leo entered the northwest lobby feeling like he had been gone for two years. 

"Mr. McGarry?" the uniformed Secret Service officer greeted him as he swiped his security card. 

"Hey, Mike," Leo replied. 

"It's good to see you, sir," Mike responded. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine." 

"What are you doing here?" Mike asked, stopping Leo's progress. 

"What am I doing here?" Leo repeated. "I work here." 

"Does Mr. Lyman know you're coming?" Mike asked. 

"Mr. Lyman?" Leo asked. "He doesn't need to know. I'm his boss." 

Mike nodded and lifted his phone. 

"Put the phone down, Mike," Leo said firmly. 

"I have orders, Mr. McGarry," Mike apologized as he dialed, then answered the unasked question. "From Mr. Lyman." 

"And just what did Mr. Lyman order?" 

"Yes, this is Officer Wilson at the Northwest Lobby," Mike said into the phone. "Tell Mr. Lyman the package has arrived.... Yes." He hung up promptly then responded to Leo. "He said I should feel free to wrestle you to the ground and throw you into the parking lot, but that I could also just let his office know if you entered the building. Enjoy your visit, Mr. McGarry. It's good seeing you again." 

"Mike," Leo said. "I am the Chief of Staff of this White House. As soon as I set foot inside the building, I am in charge. Josh does not have the say-so as to my comings and goings. I am going to my office to work a full day." 

"If you say so," Mike nodded and kept his face straight though his eyes were disbelieving. 

Leo put his head down and walked with purpose toward the offices behind the lobby. He made his way down the hall and first encountered Ed wearing a puzzled expression and he looked at the cellphone in his hand. 

"This is Larry's phone," Ed said aloud to no one. "Why do I have Larry's phone? Do I look like Larry? Hey, Leo. Does Josh know you're here?" 

"Hey, Larry," Leo said. 

"I'm Ed," he corrected. 

"It was a joke," Leo said flatly as Larry approached looking as confused as Ed. 

"Do you have my phone?" Larry asked. "Hey, Leo. How are you?" 

"I'm fine," Leo said. 

"Does Josh know you're here?" Larry asked. "Josh didn't say Leo was coming to visit, did he, Ed?" 

Leo sighed and offered both his most displeased-for-no-apparent-reason stare. They stepped back feeling chastised. 

"Thank you," Leo said of their reactions as he headed toward the communication 

Things did not improve as he reached the bullpen. He rounded the corner and started to greet Ginger and Bonnie but was met with more surprise than pleasure at his return. 

"Oh no," Ginger gasped. "Leo. You're breaking the rules." 

"What rules?" he asked. 

"The rule that says you can't be here," she answered succinctly. The look on the Chief of Staff's face let her know he did not like the rule nor it being quoted to him. "I didn't make the rule. I'm just supposed to.... I'm just going to pick up this phone and pretend I have a call to make." 

"Good," Leo nodded. 

Sam and Toby then entered the bullpen, bickering about coffee. They were so focused on their discussion and so weary from the protracted campaign that they did not see the newcomer. 

"Look, it was a 20 second detour," Sam argued, holding the steaming cup in his hand. "You know how much I   
hate the coffee in the Mess now." 

"I don't care if it was a two second detour," Toby fumed. "I told you, I said I would never go to that place again. And by never I meant NEVER! Now, I'm laying down the law. You are to never go anywhere near that Poppy Tort place again and mention it to me!" 

"It's Poppytwist," Sam corrected him. "And they had croissants. They were fresh. You should have bought one; a little bite of heaven in your mouth." 

"I don't care if they've hired the top Chef from the Versailles Palace," Toby continued. 

"I'm not sure Versailles actually has a chef," Sam pondered. 

"That place no longer exists, do you hear me?" 

"You'll change your mind after we have lunch there," Sam nodded. "They make great fruccacia bread. So, what you said in the car, did you I hear Josh right, there's really nothing left for us to do?" 

"Morning, fellas," Leo said standing beside Ginger's desk. 

Toby read his paper and answered Sam without registering the greeting. 

"There's nothing more we can do," Toby sighed. "We're done. They're caucusing informally now; we'll work to phones if there's a chance someone will flip, but we went over that ground last night. We've exhausted all possibilities." 

"Josh didn't go home again last night," Sam pointed out as he hung up his coat in his office and returned to the bullpen. 

"He hasn't been home for more than an hour in the last week," Toby said. "His mother called me on Monday. She wanted to know if we had killed him or if he had run away from home." 

"I called her last night," Sam said. "She left me a message. She apparently left him a dozen in the last 10 days, and his machine at home is full. He hasn't checked it or called her back. I said he was fine, just busy." 

"You lied," Toby nodded. "Good boy." 

"I couldn't exactly tell her the truth," Sam said. "That's he sits in his office at night staring at ... them--all night. It's like he turned into a Stepford Wife." 

"He thinks that if he stares long enough, things might change," Toby offered. "Has anybody heard from Donna this week?" 

"Margaret talked to her yesterday," Ginger explained. "She wished us luck." 

"How's her dad?" Sam asked. 

"Same," Ginger said somberly. 

"You know, we should send her flowers," Sam said. "Leo, too." 

"I'm right here," Leo said firmly. 

Josh breezed into the bullpen with his eyes fixed on Toby. 

"We miscounted Connecticut," he said. "I just talked to Poulin and two from Tennessee might swing too, so... I don't know; not that it changes anything in the end, but.... Can we run these through again?" He turned to leave but doubled back. "Oh, and I got a message Leo may have snuck into the building. If you see him, tackle him and lock him in a closet until I get Mallory down here punish him." 

"Well, as long as no one knows I'm here," Leo remarked as he headed toward his office. "I might actually get some work done today." 

"I'm sorry?" Josh said, whirling around to spot Leo for the first time. "Hey, Leo. Uh.... How you doin'?" 

"Fine," Leo said. "I'm working today and no one--I mean no one--is saying otherwise or I'm locking all of you in a closet. Understand?" 

"Not really," Josh answered bewilderedly. He was still marveling at the sight of Leo in the office again. 

"With you I'm not surprised," Leo commented. 

"I think what Josh means is.....," Sam started. 

"No," Toby interrupted. "I would bet he doesn't understand; I vote to have Josh sedated or locked up.... or both. Now." 

"Leo, you don't need to be here," Josh said, ignoring the comment. "You shouldn't be here. You should be home. Resting." 

"I've had enough rest, thank you," Leo responded. "The election is about to be decided, and I'm here for it. Not to mention that I'm your boss so you've really got no say in the matter." 

"Leo, you didn't need to rush back here so soon," Sam offered. "I can understand how you might have felt left out, but really there was no need to feel like that. It's perfectly normal. People who take extended medical leave are still part of the team. It's not unlike when a woman takes maternity leave." 

"What the hell?" Leo asked. 

"And should you feel the urge to give birth," Toby said rolling his eyes, "Sam will have wise words to help you through that as well." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Leo said with a confused look. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a call to make." 

"To whom?" Josh asked instantly. 

"What are you, my mother?" 

"I'm the Acting Chief of Staff.," Josh said for lack of anything better. "I'm also the Political Director of the campaign to re-elect the President." 

"Well, you can go back to your runner-up status on the first one now," Leo said confidently. 

"I need to know who you are talking to and if it pertains to the vote," Josh insisted. 

"Fine," Leo relented. "Senator Sanford." 

"You mean Representative Sanford?" Josh ventured. 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. He was still a little tired but that was mostly due to the clandestine escape he perpetrated that morning. Getting out of Alcatraz had probably been easier than giving his daughter the slip. 

"Leo, you can't," Josh said. "If you talk to Sanford, Tredwell will call Greeley, and he'll talk to Domoni." 

"Short version, we'll lose Kentucky," Sam yawned. 

"We're losing Kentucky," Toby corrected him. "It puts Oregon back into in jeopardy." 

"I thought Oregon was a lock," Leo said. 

"It is," Ginger stepped in. "He meant Ohio." 

"Right," Josh nodded. "Except that I was going to say it puts Iowa back in limbo. It was a shaky yes for us until Domoni stole Tucker's committee assignment and threatened to stop the highway funds that Greeley was going to swing into Tucker's district." 

"We can't just talk to Domoni and head this off?" Leo asked. 

"No, because the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be," Toby said. 

"Domoni wants a seat on commerce and Tredwell blocked him because.... well, no reason other than spite and possibly something about a parking ticket about three years ago," Josh explained. "Anyway, Domoni thinks we backed Tredwell because, well, we did, but not in that instance." 

Leo sighed at the insanity of it all. He understood the summary of what he had just heard. There were raw nerves and a lot of confusion up the road. He was glad that that much hadn't changed during his forced sabbatical. At least this was better than being babied by Mallory, Leo decided. 

"Daddy!" Mallory fumed as if on key as she stormed into the bullpen with wild eyes and reddened cheeks. 

"Mallory, what are you doing here?" Leo asked in defeat. 

"I forgot my folder for math class and returned home in time to see you getting into a cab," she said. "I followed you." 

"Mallory, I am not going back," Leo warned then turned to tall those present to issue an edict. "I am your father, your boss and my own man. Am I making myself clear?!" 

"You probably should relax, Leo," Sam said. "You seem a little excited there." 

"Go get a bagel, would you?" Leo snapped. 

"Oh, they make these great croissants over at this..." 

"Sam!" Toby shouted. 

"I'm gonna just go in here," Sam said pointing to his office. "Good seeing you, Leo." 

"Well, I guess he can hang around for a little while," Josh said to Mallory. "Well get take him home after this is over. Nothing much going on here today anyway." 

"Gee, thanks, Josh," Leo said forcefully. 

"He's not the one allowing you, Daddy," Mallory informed her father. "I am." 

"Yeah, be mad at her," Josh said. 

"You look like hell, by the way," Mallory said to Josh. 

"I get that a lot lately," Josh nodded comfortably. 

"Young lady, I'll have you know that you're still not too old for me to put you over my knee," Leo said. 

"It's remarks like that which tend to get us in trouble," Toby remarked. "So I'm just going to go in my office and stare mindlessly at the wall for 8 minutes or so. Josh? Your office for Connecticut and Tennessee?" 

"Yeah," Josh said as Mallory said good-bye to her father and made him promise to take it easy during the day. "Leo, you should probably just go to your office and work on.... you know.... stuff for the rest of the country if you like. We've got this." 

"My office is so far away," Leo said starting towards the Operations Bullpen. "Maybe I'll just go to yours. It's closer." 

Leo strode down the hall toward Josh's open door. He could hear Josh's feet swiftly on his heels and his voice pleading with him not to go into the office. 

"Leo, really," Josh said, stepping in front of him as they neared the door. "I think the President needs you for... I don't know, something. Your office is so much closer. And, it should be, because you're the Chief of Staff. You should go.... staff something, like your empty office." 

"Josh, am I barred from this meeting by executive order because that's pretty much the only thing that's gonna do it," Leo remarked. 

Josh opened his mouth to respond then closed it as nothing came to him. In the pause, Leo stepped around him and entered the office. What he saw stunned him. 

The walls were covered, wallpapered, with the faces of 538 congressmen. The pictures, 8 x 10 enlarged photocopies taken from the most recent congressional yearbook covered nearly every space on the walls. Beside each picture were masses of scribbles and post-it notes. Leo turned around slowly to survey the gallery of faces. Several taped to the windows were most curious. They contained not faces but stick figure drawings with the names of the congressman written at the bottom. 

"What the hell?" Leo asked when he found his voice. "What have you done?" 

"A little redecorating," Josh said. "This was my show to manage the last two weeks so this is command central. These represent every member of the House of Representatives. They're the most current pictures of all but those on the window. We couldn't find Sherman from North Carolina 12th or Fox from Alabama 1st so we improvised." 

"Please tell me you haven't turned into a stalker while I've been gone," Leo remarked still taking in the room. 

"No," Josh assured him. "Well, yes, but legal stalkers. We like to think of ourselves as lobbyists. Leo, this is the cast of today's big show. These are the players in this final act. We were... figuring out their lines. Ask me. Ask me anything, about any of them, and how they're going to vote." 

"Okay, an easy one," Leo said. "Your college roommate, Chris Wick." 

"Representative Wick is with us and he's bringing Briggs and Titamore with him from Maryland," Josh said with a firm nod at each individual's picture on the wall. 

"So you've got this mess got this cross referenced by voting blocks across state lines?" 

"Sort of," Josh replied. 

"Sort of?" Leo repeated. "You mean to say you know in your head but you've also memorized on the wall where each guy's picture is." 

"You look at this long enough and it sort of stays with you," Josh looked at the faces staring back at him then at Leo. "It's written down in our notes and I've got it in my head, but the pattern on the wall might not... We've got it down to who is coming to the party and who everyone is bringing with them." 

"So you were saying about Briggs?" 

"Right," Josh said pointing toward each Representative's picture as he spoke their name in fly pattern around the room. "Briggs and Titamore are with Wick because of H.R. 287 and the Special Education funding. That might turn Whalen--of Illinois--against us, that loses us nearly 10, but it gets us Jenner and Hollingsworth and the 12 votes in each of their blocks; draw us even in Georgia and takes Washington and naturally Hawaii for us." 

"What about Hannagian and Wheeler? 

"Hannagian is a question mark still," Josh said from memory. "It depends on where Elmer, of Ohio goes. Wheeler we lost. It was the tobacco thing." 

Leo looked around the room again and the frantic pattern on the wall that allegedly made perfect sense to his lieutenant. It did not surprise him, though it did frighten Leo on some level. 

"Josh, this is...," Leo started then shook his head in dismay. "I don't know what the hell it is. I don't know what to call it." 

"Insane has been used a lot," Josh offered. "Ed, Larry and I put this together. Toby's kind of afraid to come in here." 

"Then we're moving this to my office right after the vote," Leo suggested. "So, the Floor roll call?" 

"Starts at nine, which means they won't actually start until closer to 9:30," Josh explained. "The Speaker will read the orders; there will be a few speeches; stuff no one needs to hear; and then they'll adjourn by 10:30 for a final caucus with the parties. The states convene by 11:30 for the close door votes." 

"They're meeting all over the District?" 

"Had to," Josh said. "The last time they did this New York had the largest delegation with 34 Representatives. Texas is using the Kennedy Center; California is going to the DC Convention Center; Michigan is at Constitution Hall over at the DAR, I think. CJ's got the list. Anyway, they're supposed to have certified results by five, but there's no way to enforce that. It'll take as long as it takes." 

"In a perfect world, we'll know before they certify," Leo ventured. 

"In a perfect world, the election has a winner on Election Night," Josh reminded him. The gruff stare he received in response curbed his mocking. "I've got calls out. Sanders, from Vermont called. He's in our camp, but you had to figure the only Socialist in the House wasn't going to vote for anyone else. He's been lobbying anyone who will listen to him." 

"Does Bernie want anything in return?" 

"No," Josh shook his head. "The guy's bored mostly. He's the only vote for his state and has nothing to do at all today. I told him to come over here and play cards with Charlie and me." 

"Josh." 

"We should start hearing results by 3," Josh continued. "They're'll be fights in Pennsylvania, Ohio and Colorado. They could hold out until... Doesn't matter. Leo, we already know, okay? We're not.... " 

"Yeah," Leo nodded, thinking it needlessly cruel to make his Deputy say the words out loud. 

Leo knew Josh was going to take the loss hard and personal. Like most of the senior staff, he felt responsible for not securing the victory in the general election. His current estrangement with the President only furthered his belief that he was more culpable. 

"They start the roll call as soon as every delegation has returned...," Josh started then stopped. Leo nodded the formalities were no longer important. 

"Josh..." 

"For the sake of correctness, I'm sure we got Connecticut wrong," Josh shrugged, looking at a cluster of faces on the wall opposite his desk. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at the wall. He went over to it as he continued to speak. "I say this because I checked the notes from our last meeting, and we counted the 2nd and 8th Districts twice--that was my fault. I didn't use my fingers I guess. So, we're not gonna win Connecticut; that's not my fault personally, despite what Toby says, no more than the fact that we'll win New York is his doing." 

Josh stood at the wall and picked up the two faces that had leapt free from the new wall paper job. In their former place was the pane of glass on the frame occupying that spot on the wall. Josh lifted the frame from its peg and replaced the pictures of the two congressmen on the wall. He returned to the desk, holding his father's framed picture in his hand then place it on the corner of his desk. 

"He'd be proud of you regardless of what's gonna happen in a few hours," Leo said. 

"I know," Josh said with weary confidence as he stared back at his father's easy and unwavering smile. "I'm just glad he wasn't around to actually see this." 

"This office?" Leo quipped looking around him. "You may have something there." 

"It could have been organized better, maybe," Josh shrugged, looking at the disaster around him with a weak and forlorn grin. He had decided to accept the loss with grace. It was going to be painful, but he had learned much from it--about himself, about his party and about this candidate. Most would be surprised to learn that nearly all of it was positive. "I promise to suggest to someone it should be picked up by the time my replacement arrives." 

"You know, there are moments when you remind me of your father," Leo commented. 

The remark caught Josh and his sarcasm off guard. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," Leo shook his head. "This isn't one of them." 

Josh nodded. He could imagine how insane he looked. 

"He'd have flipped this entire building completely upside down then gone to the well of the House to chastise and castigate every congressman in the building with his indignation," Leo joked. "That would have been something to see. He was a ball of fire... Hell, a whole conflagration when it suited him." 

"He would have lost, too," Josh said solemnly. "Tantrums don't win votes, and you look exceptionally stupid when you finish. Losing was not my preferred outcome, but I'll be back. Someday." 

The statement caught Leo by surprise. Josh was not grieving the loss; he was taking it in a more mature stride than the Chief of Staff expected other staffers to display. Even the President was going to have a moment-long blazing stare spotted with anger and regret. Leo gave Josh a thoughtful look; he appreciated the calm and poise his Deputy was showing at what was possibly the lowest point of his professional life. It pained Leo as much as it made him proud. He felt ashamed for the way he had underestimated and even doubted Josh's dedication and ability to focus on what mattered during the campaign. 

"Know a minute ago when I said there are moments?" Leo offered. "I changed my mind. This is one of them." 

***************** _The White House_   
_Interior Hallway_   
_2:30 p.m._

Charlie made his way back from the Mess. He had tried to eat but found it impossible. The tension in the building made swallowing too difficult. He was now heading to the residence to get the President. The vote could begin in half an hour if all was well in the delegations. 

"No need to rush, Charlie," Josh said as he wandered through the hall. "They're not all back yet." 

"I was just going to get the President," Charlie told him. "He's having lunch with the First Lady upstairs." 

"Yeah, no rush," Josh said again. "They're not all back yet." 

"You said that," Charlie pointed out. 

"Yeah." 

"Everything okay?" 

"No," Josh shrugged. "I mean, it's going precisely the way we knew it would, I suspect. I don't like it and that's..." 

"The not-okay part?" Charlie ventured. Josh nodded. "You did your best." 

"And we still failed miserably," Josh nodded again with a weak grin. 

"I wouldn't say miserably," Charlie offered. 

"You know another way to fail?" Josh asked. "I could say I failed spectacularly, but somehow they mean the same thing today." 

"You mean we," Charlie corrected him. "You just said '_I failed_.' You meant _we_ as in the whole team." 

"Sure," Josh said. "This is just one of those days, Charlie. You know." 

"What days?" 

"One of those days when you wished the clocks ran backward," Josh said then started back down the hall. 

"Josh," Charlie called to him. "Have you talked to Donna recently?" 

"No, why?" Josh asked, snapping out of his malaise at the mention of her name. 

"No reason," Charlie said. "I was just thinking that since you've got nothing to do but think of another way to say miserable that maybe you might give her a call. See how she's doing, that kind of thing." 

"I don't think so," Josh said. "The last thing she needs to hear is that she doesn't have a job to come back to." 

"What about what you need?" Charlie asked. 

Josh fixed Charlie with a questioning stare. Charlie held his own expression in check revealing nothing and denying nothing. After a moment of silence, Josh looked at the floor then shook his head slightly then walked away. 

***************** _Presidential Residence_   
_Dec. 15, 2:43 p.m._

The President folded his napkin and tossed it onto the coffee table in the sitting room. He had just finished lunch with his wife and was preparing to go downstairs to watch the vote with the staff. The last nose count in the morning put the race still too close to call, which by the read of all experts, meant the Ritchie would prevail. It was a hard fought race and would have been a sweet victory, Bartlet thought as he stood and rolled down his sleeves. As he glanced down, he noticed a spot on his tie--a drop of the soup he'd had for lunch. Shaking his head, he walked to the bedroom. 

"Abbey," he called toward her dressing room. "I need a new tie." 

"I saw that," she remarked. "It's too bad. I really like the burgundy one. Just grab another." 

"I don't need advisors to pick the right one for me?" he quipped. "One that properly states, I'm unemployed because I just made history by losing the most contentious Presidential race in history." 

"I think you place too much faith the power of a tie to be a spokesperson," Abbey said, as she put on her ear rings and entered the room. "Just grab a red one. Red will look good with your shirt and jacket." 

Bartlet pulled open the doors to the antique chifforobe where once hung the clothes of Woodrow Wilson. His ties were draped in straight lines along the many pegs in the back of the door. He scanned the red variety for a moment, but his eyes were drawn to another tie that lay folded on the shelf inside the wardrobe. It too was red, but it was not his. 

"I forgot to give this back," Bartlet remarked. 

"What was that?" Abbey asked as she drew closer. 

"It's Josh's tie," Bartlet said as he lifted the silky strip of material. "From the debate when you mugged me." 

"It's tradition," Abbey said, taking the tie from him. "Josh's tie brings you good luck; you should wear it." 

"No," Bartlet said. 

"I like this tie on you," she smiled as she laced it around his neck. "He never asked for it back, did he?" 

"No," Bartlet said solemnly and shook his head thinking back to ad different tie at a different time four years earlier. "He never does." 

***************** _Four Years Earlier_   
_Kansas_   
_Night of the final Presidential Debate, 7:56 p.m._

"Damn!" Bartlet cursed as he noticed the damage; it was more than an unnoticeable singe mark. The thing had just about caught fire. 

The burn was dead center of his tie--the one it took the fashion consultant (one of the most wasteful expenses any campaign could have in Bartlet's opinion) 40 minutes to choose. He wasn't sure he wanted to lead a country that was swayed by the color and style of neckwear of the candidates. With this and other unproductive thoughts filling his head in the minutes leading up to his final debate, he had stepped outside the auditorium for a quick and forbidden cigarette. 

"Sir?" a familiar voice called to him from the darkness. "Governor?" 

Bartlet turned to see his Political Director approaching him and pointing to his wrist. 

"It's time, sir," Josh said as he rubbed his hands together as if noticing for the first time that it was cold in late October. 

"Yeah," Bartlet said, feeling like he should hide rather than be scolded. "We, uh, have a little problem." 

"Problem?" Josh asked, his voice registering the word and his expression reacting to it instantly. 

"That is amazing," Bartlet remarked as he watched his advisor's facial expression. "I actually can see your mind shift gears, Josh. We are definitely sitting down to a hand of poker sometime." 

"Governor," Josh sighed as he gave him an emploring and beseeching look. 

"I'd ask what actually goes on inside your head at a moment like this, but frankly the possible answers scare me," Bartlet said. 

"Sir, what's wrong?" 

"I stepped outside to have a cigarette and now this," Bartlet answered and revealed the burn mark. 

Josh looked at the blemish on the silk and opened his mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. He shut his mouth and took a deep breath for a moment. 

"Sir, we've talked about this," Josh began as he shook his head. "How are we supposed to sound credible when we get tough on Big Tobacco if someone sees that you're....." 

"You think this is really the time for...," Bartlet started testily. 

"Governor," Toby called from the door to the auditorium. "We need you now." 

"See, this is why we...," Josh started as he and Bartlet hurried toward the door. 

"Are you lecturing me?" Bartlet asked. "Or just preparing to offer me some unwanted and unneeded advice?" 

"Neither, sir," Josh said, yanking the knot at his neck looser and pulled the loop over his head. 

"Then what?" 

"I'm just giving you my tie," Josh said, his game face valiantly holding of the smirk behind his eyes as he handed over his tie. 

Bartlet took the tie and placed it around his neck; snow was drifting down from the blackened sky. He looked back at his campaign's Political Director, standing in the snow with shirt sleeves and now an open collar. He was wearing a grin as well. 

"You're ready, Governor," Josh said with a nod. 

Bartlet nodded then burst through door held open by Toby who was looking flush and harried as he proclaimed they were starting in 10 seconds. 

"Is everything Okay?" Toby asked in a stern and anxious fashion. 

"It's fine," Josh said as he shook Bartlet's hand. "This guy's on fire." 

***************** 

_Deputy Chief of Staff's Office_   
_Dec. 15, 4:03 p.m._

The roll call had begun late, as predicted. So far, there were no surprises. No phone calls to say the miracle had occurred. All reports that had been received had been as expected. The other delegations were just now talking to each other to find out how each state had fallen. The White House was learning more watching C-SPAN than by answering the phones. 

Josh left the Communication's Bullpen to grab his election folder that he had left on his desk. The Senior Staff and quite a few of the senior assistants were gathered in the bullpen watching the results. Josh shuffled down the hall to his area and noted how deserted it appeared. Some of the staff had been dismissed early after the weeks of long hours spent keeping the country afloat while the election remained in limbo. When Josh arrived at his office, he heard his phone ringing. His initial inclination was to ignore it. But he turned back to his desk. There would now be a limited number of times when he could answer the phone as the Deputy CoS. He thought it best not to waste them. 

"Josh Lyman," he said evenly. 

"Don't you people answer the phone?" the man snapped. 

Josh recognized the voice. It belonged to Representative Roger Wildgust (D-OR). He was a master at behind the scenes politicking. The 60'ish legislator was a powerful and well-connected man in Washington. He and Josh did not often play nice, despite belonging to the same party. They had very different approaches to policy and execution of it. Josh was surprised to hear from Wildgust as he had thwarted all attempts to reach him during the staff's push for support in the last two weeks. 

"Josh," Wildgust said in a hushed tone. "Are you watching?" 

"Am I... Yeah," Josh said, thinking the question idiotic. "Why are you whispering?" 

"Doesn't matter," Wildgust said. "It's yours." 

"What?" 

"The votes," Wildgust reported. "Bove and Young just told me that they struck a deal and Paulette and Lloyd. You have Pennsylvania, Illinois and Ohio." 

"No, we don't," Josh said, looking at the faces littering his walls. "Our count said Ohio and Pennsylvania are the same. They're like Illinois. The count said Illinois was going for Ritchie." 

"_Was_ is right," Wildgust said. "I told you, Bove and Young are bringing their people and that got Paulette and Lloyd to rethink and... There was a committee chairmanship on the line so.... You can get the finer points later. What matters is this: Josh, it's yours." 

"How?" Josh said, feeling much calmer than he thought he should--leading him to believe he was dreaming. "Why?" 

Wildgust took a moment. Josh waited anxiously, hearing the Speaker of the House hammering his gavel to bring the members to order in the background as roll call continued. 

"The will of the American people," Wildgust said. "The President got the most electoral votes and that counted for something. Also... I'm not saying this was the single most powerful factor, but it was important. Friends, Josh. The White House has friends." 

"What?" 

"Well, for one, the President never lost Saul Roth's vote," Wildgust said. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You heard me," Wildgust said. "Domino Theory. One person changes his mind and it snowballs. There are powerful people and there are influential people, Josh. Some people are both of those things. The President never lost Saul Roth's vote and that meant a lot to a few people. Look, I have to go. Congratulations." 

Josh sat still, listening to the dial tone in his ear. Slowly, he stood and replaced the phone. He looked at the picture sitting on the corner of his desk. His father looked back at him, grinning in victory. Josh smiled back briefly, shook his head then walked out of his office on weak knees. He made his way to the Communication's Bullpen where the senior staff was gathered with the President watching the TV coverage of the voting. Leo saw him enter and gave him a quizzical look. 

"What is it?" Leo asked. 

"Watch this," Josh said as the Illinois delegate stepped up to the microphone. 

"What?" 

"This," Josh nodded toward the TV. 

"Mr. Speaker," the delegate announced. "The great state of Illinois casts its vote for Mr. Josiah Bartlet." 

A resounding silence filled the bullpen as the staffers looked from the TV to each other and back again. 

"That's...," Toby uttered first. "We don't have Illinois." 

"We do now," Ginger said. 

"Sam, pinch me," Toby ordered. "Someone, anyone. Do it." 

"Illinois?" Sam shouted and raised his arms high. "Oh my god, Illinois! Illinois! That's... Oh... It's.... It's..." 

"It's Illinois," CJ finished for him in equal astonishment. 

"Mr. President, you know what this means?" Sam said as he turned around. "Wait! What does this mean? Josh?" 

Bartlet turned to his Chief of Staff, who was intently gaping at his deputy, who was starting to grin in a weary fashion. 

"Leo?" Bartlet asked. "What just happened?" 

Indiana cast its vote--for Ritchie--then came Iowa--surprisingly for Bartlet--and the roll call continued. There was a new rumbling on the floor of the House and the TV commentator's began swiftly revising their predictions. 

"Josh? What did you do?" Leo asked with a surprised and pleased grin. 

"I'm not completely sure, but I think it's a long story," Josh said distantly. 

"I've got the time," Leo said. 

"Leo?" the President asked again. 

"Congratulations, Mr. President," Leo said turning to face the victor. "It's gonna take another half hour or so to be official, but... Congratulations." 

The bullpen then erupted into a wave of cheers. The cacophony swelled and spilled into the hall. Members of the press left their area and stepped into forbidden hallways, crossing over to the celebration pit. CJ was calling for a meeting as soon as possible so that she could hop into the Briefing Room and carve her name in the podium again. However, the request was drown out. Leo shook Josh's hand and gave him a rare and unabashed smile that was filled with more praise than words could express. Leo then stepped aside, letting Josh face the President. 

President looked into the Josh's eyes; he did not see the satisfaction there that Leo had received. What he saw instead pained him. It was a sense of relief and reprieve. There was also the same distance that had existed between them for months. Bartlet put on serious expression as Josh offered his hand. 

"Congratulations, Mr. President," Josh said solemnly. 

Bartlet shook his hand reluctantly. 

"I suppose you can explain this," Bartlet said. 

"I'm working on that, sir," Josh nodded. 

Abbey stepped between them and offered Josh a peck on the cheek and a warm embrace. 

"I could kick your ass for this," she said softly. "I was already to start packing." 

"You have my apologies, Ma'am," Josh said, not bothering to hide his grin. 

Toby jostled Josh aside as he congratulated the President and First Lady. 

"As for you," Toby said, as he turned to face Josh. "You, I could kiss." 

"But you won't, right," Josh stepped back suspiciously. 

"I'm feeling very happy right now," Toby said in a stern tone that was excited and still shocked. 

"Someone hide me," Josh said and retreated as Sam reached an arm around Josh's neck and pulled him into the melee in the middle of the bullpen. 

Bartlet watched as Josh disappeared in the crush of his colleagues. The President noticed the sudden appearance of an euphoric expression on the Deputy Chief's face as he took congratulations and adulation from his colleagues. The jubilant behavior stood in stark contrast to the aloof well wishes the President received moments earlier. 

"Hold on," Josh said, pulling out of Sam's bearhug. "I gotta make a call." 

"You want to sit on a wall?" CJ asked. 

"No, my phone," Josh replied, extricating himself from the group and dialing his cellphone. He stepped into the hallway, oblivious of the President's watchful eyes following him. 

Josh held one hand over his left ear as he pressed the phone tight to his other one. He waited several moments until she answered his summons. 

"Hi...," he said breathlessly. "It's Josh. I don't have much time, but I wanted to call..... Yeah.... Yeah.... Did you see it? I mean, did you see what just happened?.... I know, it means we won.... Yeah, that's the ball game..... What? It's a little loud here.... Yeah, Sam and CJ and well, everyone..... What?.... No, Kentucky doesn't make any difference now... It's over.... It's ours.... Yes... 'Cause I know--trust me.... Hold on, I can't hear you; Sam's yelling..... What?.... I should go.... I just wanted you to..... I just wanted to say... Well, yeah, and for putting up with me being me through all of this.... Oh, and that I'm coming to see you.... No, I'm not kidding..... Yes, next week maybe.... I will.... I will... I love you, too..... Bye, Mom." 

Josh then walked back toward his bullpen, for reasons he didn't comprehend, and stood in the relative quiet. 

_Four more years_, he thought, grinning unconsciously. _Four more.... Oh man, we did it.... This is.... I can't even put a cogent thought together.... We gotta celebrate.... This is the best night of my life._

His eyes then wandered over to the abandoned desk outside his office. Her computer screen was dark; her calendar was long out of date; dust was collecting on the shelves behind her chair. It was then that he noticed the missing details: several of the pictures from the shelf were missing, the sweater she wore in cold weather was not in the back of the chair. They had been gone for some time--much like her. 

_Donna's not here; she wasn't here for most of this. We did it. I did it... without her._

He realized for the first time that she might not be coming back. He also realized that he could in fact function without her--something he had never done since he started working in that building. It was both gratifying and disheartening. Before he could ponder it longer, the celebration from the communication's area spilled into the hallway as CJ yelled for him. 

"I'll be right there," Josh called back, taking a fleeting backward glance at the Donna's desk. 

"Hey there, Lucky Pants," Amy said suddenly beside him. 

"Hey," Josh said smiling at the surprise. "Did you see...." 

"Yes, I did," she grinned. "I was over at Cozi's deli getting ready to order a consolation/comiseration coffee when I saw what was happening. Leo's secretary signed me in. So I gotta ask, are you a witch or something? How did you do that?" 

"I'd explain but.... " 

"Tell me later," she said. "I owe you a drink." 

"You do?" Josh asked. "Did you bet against us?" 

"I've learned not to bet against you," Amy replied. "So, are you up for it?" 

"A drink?" 

"It's time to celebrate," she said lacing her arms around his neck. "I'll spring for a flood of champagne. We'll make a night of it."   
  
  


**_THE END_**

But wait!   
All the unanswered questions will be resolved with   
the new WingNut series that picks up where "The Quest" ended:   
**HEAVEN AND HELL**   


**There comes a time when debts must be paid.**

**Friendships will be tested.**

**And the world will change forever.**

**That time has arrived.**

**The election is over, and the future has never been so uncertain.**

**Between the Contest and the Victory, there is a place where all intentions must be judged.**

**_HEAVEN AND HELL_**


End file.
